Racing (And Other Reasons to Sweat)
by Carrieosity
Summary: Jimmy Novak swims. His twin Castiel runs. All they need is a cyclist who can keep up. Dean is not an "athlete." He's not about to back down from a challenge, though, so he'll do whatever he has to do, as far outside his comfort zone as it may take him.
1. Your Pace or Mine?

_A/N: This was written for the inaugural DCJ Big Bang. I've only written a single brief ficlet in the Dean/Jimmy/Cas ship, but I couldn't resist trying my hand at something larger._

 _Honestly, sort of surprised that there appears to be only a handful of triathlon-related fics out there in ANY fandom, and I can't find any at all in the SPN fandom. (If you know of any, tell me!) I'm not a triathlete, myself, though I do all three sports separately and enjoy following it. The Escape from Alcatraz triathlon is a real event, as is the corporate division. It's great fun to watch._

 _Thanks to my beta readers, captainhaterade tumblr and buffenator tumblr, and especially to Sammy (princessjimmynovak tumblr) for the gorgeous and steamy art she made for the story! (Here's the link to her art on Tumblr:_ _post/160682488489/the-time-has-come-our-dcj-big-bang-is-here-and_

* * *

 **Late February**

 _"Oh...oh, God. Just like that. Don't stop."_

The thing about swimmers is that they have incredible shoulders. Really, their entire upper body strength, for the truly dedicated swimmer, is crazy; under critique, describing a swimmer is one of the only times one might use the word "wingspan" (often breathlessly, often with an air of, shall we say, speculation) with regards to a human body. The hours spent pulling the body through the water, over and over, sleekly cutting through the surface . . . Those hours do interesting things to shoulders. Interesting and _wonderful_ things.

 _"Oh, my God, Jimmy! Fuck, so good…"_

Jimmy Novak had amazing shoulders. He was not unaware of this. How could he be, when his years on the high school and college swim teams had been spent listening to whispers and low chuckles from girls in his classes who just _happened_ to develop a passionate interest in competitive swimming after he joined the team? He didn't mind. He knew how he looked in a Speedo. When he pulled himself from the water and winked lazily toward the bleachers, he rarely even bothered to aim toward any particular person—male or female, in fact. Jimmy was never lonely.

 _"You like that? Hmmm, is that what you want? Just...like...that?""Mmmmm, yes. Right there, oh, fuck."_

The thing about runners is that they have spectacular legs. That probably goes without saying, but it should be said, anyway, because the entire concept of "runner's calves" has become so understood that it rarely even requires explanation. A good runner, though—a really committed runner—uses hill work and speed workouts and mile repeats and all sorts of other drills and exercises that...well, the calves will testify, but so will the thighs. And the ass.

 _"So tight, so hot—oh, damn it, that's it…"_

Jimmy's twin brother Castiel had legs that defied description. The girls who stood by the fence to watch the track team practice when he was in school, as well as the competitive adult team now that he had graduated, had done their best, which had eventually boiled down to a unanimous _groan_ when he'd sprint past, muscles churning and flexing and doing all those sinuous things that muscles do. When he'd stretch after practice, more than one person watching would frequently find themselves needing to adjust themselves. Castiel knew this, and if he frequently took perhaps a bit longer than required to stretch his groin muscles, well, he did like to be thorough. In fact, he was rather well known for his...thoroughness.

 _"Mmmmm, oh, God! C-Cassie! Oh, fuck!"_

The Novak twins were notorious. One might have been tempted to hate them: they were both gorgeous, extremely (as mentioned before) well-formed, intelligent, and charismatic. The problem with hating them, though, was that they were also so damn _genuine_. It was common knowledge that to spend a night with either Jimmy or Castiel was to experience the sublime, but it was also known that those nights were to be treasured as rare gems. Jimmy and Castiel didn't go in for seconds, and they never led anyone on when it came to intentions. What you saw was what you got, if you were interested. Most people, not being idiots, were.

Asking deeper questions? For some reason, nobody ever did. It's not as though they'd have gotten the truth, anyway. Besides being gorgeous, well-formed, intelligent, and charismatic, Jimmy and Castiel were also discreet. Very discreet.

 _"Shhhh, Jimmy, you don't want the security guards coming in, do you? Gonna need you to keep quiet now, babe.""Oh, yes, Cassie...keep going…"_

A swimmer's upper body is more than strong enough to lift and hold his partner: in his arms, against his body, against a row of gym lockers. His muscular shoulders can hold his own body in any number of creative positions, as well. A runner's toned hips are ideally suited to tireless, forceful pistoning, and his legs are perfectly shaped for wrapping around his partner's waist, keeping himself in place firmly, and applying a punishing grip to encourage their partner to go harder, deeper, more, more…

And that's not even mentioning the issue of hard-earned stamina.

In short, Jimmy and Castiel were made for each other. They'd reached the proof of that through rigorous study of the matter.

Despite their full and frankly impressive romantic histories, they'd never managed to find anybody else who could match them. It wasn't much of a problem, though. Admittedly, they hadn't ever felt a whole lot of motivation to try.

* * *

The thing that had made both twins so damn good at their chosen sport was that, in their hearts, they were die-hard competitors. In fact, had they not chosen different activities, it was possible that the rivalry would have been vicious enough that they might never have found common ground in other "extracurricular activities" with each other. Jimmy went on the occasional run with Castiel during off-season; Castiel had joined his brother in the pool for cross-training or when he'd found himself with a running injury. But they had always been more inclined to support each other in the battle for athletic dominance against other men, leaving their own happily unresolved dominance battles for the neutral territory of the bedroom. (Or bathroom. Or convenient backseat, or locker room, or that very memorable library study area.)

They thrived on competition. Since finishing college six years before, settling down in the midwest, and finding places for themselves in the big bad world of everyday adult living, that adrenaline rush had gotten a lot harder to find. Castiel ran with the Kansas City masters running club, true, and there were plenty of local races; he held the standing record for fastest time in the Wichita Half Marathon, which he not only defended but improved upon each year. Jimmy was on a men's swim team at their gym, which organized time trials and hosted meets every couple of months, and even without the collegiate coaches screaming at him from the poolside on a daily basis, he was still within seconds of his best lap times. It wasn't the same intensive atmosphere they'd enjoyed as students, though, and it just barely took the edge off the need to _win._

"Cassie, don't take this the wrong way, but tomorrow wouldn't be your hard run day, would it? And maybe you ought to think about, I dunno, going even harder?" Jimmy inspected the forming bruises on his biceps, lying on his stomach on the couch. "You know I like it rough, but these might be your personal best."

"Sorry," Castiel said, sighing. "Ice pack? We have plenty."

"Nah, just need to come up with a story for when Tim asks about them tomorrow at the gym."

Castiel smirked. "Not really fair. You get far more surface area that's free game for marking. Confining myself to the area covered by your little Speedo...why bother trying?"

"True."

Castiel flopped onto the end of the sofa, hauling Jimmy's legs across his lap so he could massage his glutes. "Not too sore, here, though?"

"Well, yeah, but that got a head start in the stupid meeting at work," Jimmy huffed. "Three hours of complete bullshit, I tell you. Yes, we're starting a new division, and yes, we'll need to staff it! Does that honestly require Adler to haul the _entire_ HR department into a meeting for three hours to discuss? You screen, you interview, you pick the best ones, you make an offer! We do it every day!" He rolled his eyes. "I swear, half the meeting was Adler trying to convince us about how awesome Sandover is as an employer. As though I don't _already_ work there, idiot."

Castiel hummed in agreement. He wouldn't have been able to tolerate Zachariah Adler's direction for even a week. Then again, Jimmy had always been more able to mask his feelings in those situations than he could. Castiel was grateful that his own job in the finance department was often a solitary one, communicating with his team via emails and interoffice memos. It was much easier to preserve his professional tact that way, even in the face of the worst bureaucratic idiocies.

Jimmy sighed and buried his face in the cushions. "Fuck. Thought I worked all the stress out with you, but it's all coming back now."

"Perhaps you should clean up and go to the gym?" Castiel said, the innocent tone at complete odds with the thumb that had begun stroking lightly between Jimmy's cheeks. "A good hard workout?"

"Well, that sounds backwards," Jimmy said, hiding a grin. "Clean up just to get sweaty? Waste of time. How about a good hard workout here at home, since we're already messy? Don't tell me you're tiring out on me, old man."

"You're only younger by seven minutes, Jimmy." The thumb began working its way into Jimmy, prompting a hiss as it skimmed his reddened rim. "And I wonder whether your mouth is writing checks that your ass—" he thrust roughly into Jimmy, who jerked and whined, "—can't cash."

"Oh, I'll show you what I can cash!" Jimmy said, twisting backwards and grabbing at Castiel's wrist before throwing himself on top of his brother and kissing him hard. Castiel felt himself go from moderately aroused to rock hard in a seconds, before Jimmy had hold of his cock and was stroking mercilessly, determined to have him begging for quarter.

Much later, showered, sated once more, and sprawled beside each other in their large bed, Jimmy yawned. "Oh, talking about Adler's shit reminded me of something I needed to tell you. Ever hear of Alcatraz?"

"The prison? Are we invoking newer, harsher penalties for office supply theft?" Cas said dryly.

Jimmy snorted. "Not the prison, Cassie. Well, actually, yeah, the prison's kind of involved. I mean 'Escape from Alcatraz.' It's a race. Triathlon."

"I'm listening." Neither man considered himself triathlete material, being far too dedicated to their chosen sport, but Jimmy wouldn't have brought it up without reason.

"It's not a terribly long course; I think it's something like a two-mile swim, eighteen-mile bike, and an eight-mile run. Not easy, though; basically, you swim to shore from a boat by the prison, which is on a little island. Hard currents, frigid water—supposed to be sharks, but _apparently_ these sharks aren't interested in swimmers."

"Don't take it personally, babe," Cas teased, patting his back in mock reassurance.

"Thank you, I won't." He leaned over and kissed Castiel's shoulder. "Anyway, the bike is hilly as fuck. I mean, the race is in San Francisco, so you'll have that. Run, likewise. There's actually a 400-stair climb near the end, and that's after running through deep sand along the beach."

"Are you actually trying to intimidate me?" Castiel said, raising an eyebrow.

"Nope, just filling you in," Jimmy said with an easy shrug, knowing full well the likelihood of scaring his brother away from any challenge. "It's not an easy race. That's okay, because they cap the participation numbers pretty low, and most of the spots are reserved for people with qualifying times at other hard-course tris."

"Which we don't have, because we haven't done any. I'm still looking for the point of this discussion," Cas said, shaking his head.

"Easy, Cassie, I'm getting to that! So impatient," Jimmy said with mock irritation. "The _point_ is that there's a separate category for corporate teams. Three people, relay-style, one for each leg. There's a whole thing with an actual, super-shiny corporate cup, which gets handed over each year to the winning company—very employee morale-boosting, rah rah."

Castiel was catching on. "Let me guess. You want us to form a team?"

Jimmy shook his head. "Nope. Adler wants us to. Someone high up must have caught wind of our history, and I guess word trickled down to Adler that he should 'encourage' us to participate. You were aware that our dear CEO, Mr. Roman, is an avid swimmer? Apparently, he's been aching to take down Actelion's top team for years. Each company has to register two teams, with the finishing times added together at the end, and Sandover's never been able to put together two good groups until now."

"Hmmmm," Castiel hummed. "I think you're forgetting something." He laid a palm on Jimmy's chest. "One." Then he pointed to himself, saying, "Two. It's a _tri-_ athlon, Jimmy—three. We still need a cyclist. One who can hang with us, specifically. Everybody working in my department is either just this side of the rest home, or else they've been sedentary since preschool."

"I know a guy," Jimmy mused. "Works in legal; I've seen him on the bike trainer at the gym. Big tall guy, lots of hair? Sam Winchester, I'm pretty sure that's his name."

"I'll take your word for it," said Castiel, who stubbornly avoided running inside the gym on a treadmill unless the outside weather was practically apocalyptic. "It shouldn't be too difficult to find his email in the company directory. Maybe we can talk with him over lunch, check his interest. Other than the sheer fun of it, are there any perks for our participation?"

"Dick Roman's loving gratitude?" His brother gave Jimmy a dirty look and aimed threatening fingers at his ribs; Jimmy held up hands in laughing surrender. "Company pays the race fees, and they'll cover transportation to and from California, along with the hotel. Plus names on the trophy, and I'm pretty sure a plaque on Roman's office wall."

"Well, at least he'll have an easier time remembering our names at bonus time."

* * *

Sam was as tall as Jimmy had indicated, and his hair was as floppy. He was also a cheerful, relaxed man who was readily persuaded to spend a Sunday potentially wrecking his legs in exchange for a race shirt and his boss's warm-ish regards. "I graduated from Stanford Law last year, so I know that area pretty well," he said, waving a fork in the air lazily. "Biked all over, even when I wasn't training with the cycling team. The hills are no joke, but I think I actually miss them now."

Sam was easy to like, and the conversation among the three of them flowed freely. "My brother is going to give me such crap about this," he laughed. "He called me 'Lance Armstrong' any time I so much as mentioned a cycling workout in college. Kept threatening to hook a rickshaw to my rear wheel so I could pay for my own books. Throw in the theme of this race, and all the prison jokes—it'll be a goldmine for him."

"Nice brother," Castiel said with an eyeroll; Jimmy frowned at his lack of tact, but he didn't say anything. Neither brother appreciated anti-fitness teasing much, having heard the "what was chasing you?" jokes way too many times over the years.

"No, it's not like that," Sam protested. "Dean's really a great guy! It's just the way we get with each other. I mean, you're brothers—twins, at that. You guys probably ride each other all the time!"

Jimmy, who had just taken a sip of his drink, barely managed to keep from choking. Only years of practice allowed Castiel to keep a straight face while answering, "Oh, you have no idea."

"See? Same for us. Honestly, I don't know how I'd take it if he went easy on me now."

"Believe me, I know the feeling," Jimmy replied with wide-eyed sincerity. Castiel squeezed his knee under the table.

Sam smiled, oblivious. "It's all good, you know? I mean, so long as you're giving as good as you get, of course."

Castiel smirked wickedly. "You'll hear no arguments there from us."

Chuckling fondly, Sam poked at his salad. "Not that Dean really has any room to talk. He's the one who got me my first bike, then taught me how to ride it. Dad was...not so good at the hands-on aspects of parenting. Dean took care of most of that for me. He even went out for rides with me whenever he had the chance, up until I left for school." Grimacing, he added, "Maybe if he'd had his own older brother, or anybody to do for him what he did for me, he could have had time to do stuff like this for himself, or at least not feel guilty when he did."

The banter sagged for a few minutes under the weight of the thought. Jimmy and Castiel were grimly sympathetic; their own father, though nominally supportive of his sons' athletic endeavors, had rarely done more than show up at end-of-season banquets and smiled for photos with his arms around them.

"Anyway, I should introduce you guys sometime," Sam said, trying to regain the lighthearted mood. "He might tease me, but he's an awesome support person. Maybe more ferocious than I am, sometimes, when it comes to the competition."

And just that quickly, they had their team. Adler was positively gleeful when Jimmy informed him that they would join; Jimmy suspected that Roman had done some encouraging of his own to spur Adler's nervously manic recruitment efforts. Sandover had their two teams: Jimmy, Sam, and Castiel were one, and the other included Dick Roman, the terrifying redhead named Abigail Donner who managed the legal department (and made Sam shudder just to hear her name), and the intolerably smarmy Tyson Brady from marketing. The forms were sent, the ludicrously steep and completely non-refundable entry fees were paid, and that was that.

"You know," Castiel said, later that night as he nuzzled into the back of Jimmy's neck while they lay in bed, "it's been awhile since we've done any kind of races together. Good thing it's a relay, so we don't have to worry about trash-talking each other to death this time."

"Could always talk smack in the cafeteria at work," Jimmy suggested sleepily. "Might not be _instant_ professional suicide...could be a long, slow death."

"I think it's probably best to let actions speak louder than words in this case," Castiel said, yawning around his amusement. "We'll beat the shit out of them with class and style."


	2. Save a Bike, Ride a Cyclist

**March**

"You know, I hear it's really hard to dodge bullets on a bike."

"Laugh it up, Dean," Sam said, rolling his eyes with a grin. "You can mock me all you want, but don't tell me you don't find the idea of this at least a little bit entertaining."

"I'd be more entertained if they made you actually break out of a cell to start the race," Dean replied. He put the multitool he'd been using between his teeth, switching to his bare hands to make a few final adjustments to the triangular steel frame. "There," he said. "Told you we didn't need to pay a thousand bucks for one of those fancy fluid trainers with the bells and whistles. This old girl just needed a few updates, and she'll do what you want while you wait for the roads to get a bit less icy."

"And by 'updates', you mean a complete redesign, right?" Sam examined the modified trainer, which was not only refitted with many more resistance options but also now attached to a computer sitting on a table in front of it. "Dean, this is incredible. You could go into business doing this. You'd make a killing! How long did it take you, two hours? Two and a half? This is serious work."

"People are just stupid, paying way too much," Dean muttered. He'd always been terrible at accepting praise, a lingering scar from his younger years, though Sam never stopped trying. "I suppose if people would rather shell out tons of cash for what any idiot with a wrench could do for a few bucks, that's their business, but let's not pretend it's rocket science, here."

"Whatever, man. I'm just happy you're doing it for me." Sam hoisted his road bike up and fitted the rear wheel into the trainer frame. "If I can't train on San Francisco's hills, this will let me fake them pretty well. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Drink crappier beer, for one. When I said you could pay me in brew, I didn't mean any of those weird microbrews that your fridge is full of right now." Dean was fiddling with the computer now, running through screens of various displays. "This is just a knock-off of the software that comes with the expensive trainers, but it'll tell you all you need to know. Do you really need it to be pretty, with scenery flashing by? Like that fools anybody into thinking they're actually outside, anyway."

Sam shook his head. "No, this is just fine. Not like I want to do a big amount of training inside, anyway. I need road time for this."

"Indian Creek trails?" Dean asked, sounding distracted as he clicked around.

"Probably. Pretty flat, but that'll be okay, if I make up for it with time, plus extra hill training on the trainer."

"I'll probably join you, if you want," Dean said. Sam was startled by the offer; they hadn't biked together in years. He hadn't known whether Dean even owned a bike anymore. When he didn't say anything immediately, Dean turned and looked at him questioningly.

"That would be great!" Sam quickly answered, eyes wide in pleased surprise. "Been so long since we did that."

"Yeah, well, you had to go get all schooled up," Dean said with a grin.

"I missed it, though," Sam said. "It's fun riding with you. Think you can still keep up?" He couldn't resist the little tease, just to take the maudlin edge off the memory.

"I'm not the one bragging about winning any big trophies before I've even got my ass in the saddle," Dean returned, wagging his finger.

"Hey, I never claimed we were going to win! We're just going to go out and do our best." Before the words left his mouth, he winced, knowing exactly what Dean had led him into. He didn't need to see the wide smirk on Dean's face to predict what was coming.

"Losers always whine about their best! Winners go home and fuck the prom queen!" Dean practically crowed in a truly awful Sean Connery impression. Then he cackled, ignoring the glare Sam was directing at him.

"How long were you waiting to set me up, just so you could use that quote?" Sam sighed.

Wiping his eyes, Dean managed to stop laughing long enough to reply, "Dude, pretty much from the moment you said you were planning to escape from the Rock." Then he was cracking up all over again.

* * *

Sam had practically lived on his bike when he was a kid, and Dean would be lying if he said he hadn't missed spending time with him that way. Unlike other things they'd shared growing up, when the brothers rode together, there were no distractions to get in the way; the miles stretched behind them as they pumped their legs, and everything else fell away. There was no drunk and angry dad clouding the room with cutting remarks. There was no school, work, or any other responsibilities pulling them away from each other. Distracted riding was dangerous riding, so they both agreed to leave all that behind until they were done.

When Sam left, Dean had floundered for a while. Not only had he been lonely without Sam there, he had tried to make up for the increased silence by throwing himself into work and caring for Dad. It was a sure-fire recipe for burnout. Endless barrages of criticism, now aimed solely at the son who had stayed behind, flew at Dean—why wasn't the house neater, why wasn't he making more money, how could he think that he'd ever find a woman who'd stay with him if he wasn't better, smarter, less of a disappointment. Practice makes permanent, and his father's lasting legacy had been that his words (" _Don't tell me that's the best you got, boy!_ ") remained embedded in Dean's head, well after he himself had finally found his way to a cardiac arrest.

Thankfully, there were some good people in Dean's life who could see where he was headed before he was too far gone; his buddy Benny had practically thrown him out of their co-owned hardware store one afternoon, giving him strict instructions to "go take it out on something that won't get hurt or pissed." Dean had forced himself onto his dusty mountain bike and spent hours riding hard on the gnarliest dirt trail he could find. It had done the trick of resetting his mind, and he'd found a reliable strategy to avoid letting things get that desperate again. In the winter, when riding became impractical, Benny had been known to grumble occasional threats about putting a stationary bike in the breakroom, just to take the edge off workplace tension.

Dean never considered himself an athlete, of course; he wasn't competing or anything the way Sam did. This was just something he did: healthier than smoking or binge drinking, cheaper than vacations or massages. It exhausted his restless body and preventing him from trying to think any further ahead than the next twenty or so feet of trail. Riding was the ideal therapy for him, though he'd be damned if he ever called it that out loud. He could push himself to his limits, escaping from the ugly voices until they faded away for a while.

On one of the first dry Sundays of March, Dean met up with Sam at the trailhead nearest to his house, water bottles loaded. They'd grinned widely at each other, eager to get started.

"How's the rest of your team's training going?" Dean asked a bit later, having to shout loudly as the wind whipped past his helmet.

"I see the twins leaving work every day in running gear," Sam said. "Castiel is the actual runner, but they go together a lot. I guess it's good cross-training for them. They're really intense about this."

"It's supposed to be fun, though, right?"

"Well, yeah, but I think their idea of fun is utterly killing everybody else out there," Sam said. "I guess if you're used to that, it's normal for you. They're probably a little upset about the betting, too."

"What betting?" Dean yelled.

"There's a pool going," Sam said. "Some asshole in marketing named Crowley, taking wagers on which of Sandover's teams will come in first. Problem is, nobody wants to be the guy betting against the CEO, so the other team has way better odds than ours. It's bullshit, but Jimmy looked _pissed_ when I saw him talking to Crowley yesterday."

Dean thought Jimmy and Castiel (weird name contrast; he wondered whether each parent had gotten to pick a kid to name) sounded a bit high-maintenance, but he couldn't deny that he would have been upset about that, too. He was irritated on behalf of his brother now, in fact, but he knew Sam was too good-natured to let his own competitive spirit get the better of his mood.

"Was thinking I might join them after work sometime, maybe," Sam continued. "Jimmy suggested I could come swim with him sometime, just to take care of some of the soreness. I haven't ridden this much in a couple years. Guess I got a little spoiled, but I'll make up for it." To emphasize his words, he stood up in his pedals, pushing the pace a bit. Dean snorted in amusement, but easily kept up.

"So, what's Sarah think of all this, anyway?" Dean asked a little later, when they had stopped to catch their breath and grab a drink of water. When Sam had come back from law school with a girlfriend in tow, Dean had been surprised, but he quickly found that he loved the sassy artist, particularly due to her wicked sense of humor and teasing nature.

"She wonders why I couldn't just learn to golf, like a normal lawyer," Sam said with a rueful grin. "Don't think she's enjoying the uptick in laundry much. I told her I'd wash my own stuff, but she practically growled at me. She's pretty territorial over her new laundry room. You did too good a job on it. I keep trying to tell you, you and Benny should open a side business out of your shop, doing contracting and remodels."

Dean flushed a little. "Benny's the man there, Sam. He does the parts of the job that make people swoon, all the parts people actually see. I'm just a jumped-up DIY-er, making sure the pipes flow the right way and nothing will catch fire."

"Oh, you mean just the stuff that makes everything actually function?" Sam raised an eyebrow and gazed at him evenly. "Whatever, man. I know I won't change your mind today, but you are way more than a hobbyist. You're like freaking MacGyver. You could probably build a functioning vehicle out of the stuff in my coat closet, then drive it cross-country."

"Shut up," Dean said with an eyeroll.

Sam aimed his water bottle menacingly, threatening to squirt it into Dean's face, before clipping it back to the bike frame. "Anyway, you better get used to the flattery, because Sarah wants you to come over for dinner tomorrow. She invited one of her gallery friends, too. Just count on Sarah doing some marketing of your skills, you know?"

"And by my _skills_..." Dean narrowed his eyes. "Sam, if this is a not-so-subtle attempt at matchmaking…"

Sam winced. "Well, I can't say it _isn't,_ exactly."

"I told you guys no!"

"It wasn't my idea!" Sam held up both hands. "Look, Tessa's a great girl, and Sarah thinks you guys would be good together."

"Not looking for a relationship right now, Sammy." Dean's irritation was all the greater because Sam _knew_ that. Dean had told him, multiple times.

It wasn't that the idea of a relationship was unattractive, really. The problem was that, honestly, Dean wasn't sure where he was going or what he wanted anymore. He was feeling increasingly out of place in the whole bar hook-up scene, too old for one-night stands, freaked out by the "more mature" women on the prowl for husbands. It had been more than a year since he'd been with anyone in any sort of serious way, and he'd been so unhappy by the end that merely thinking of diving back in seemed intimidating.

He'd only come close once since then, in fact, and therein lay an entirely different aspect of the problem. Sam, ever the king of "keep an open mind" and "never make assumptions," had been a fairly oblivious teenager before leaving home altogether. Dean really didn't think that he had been all that subtle about it in his younger years, other than keeping all dating discussion to himself when his father was around, but even after Dad passed, he supposed he never actually came right out and said, "Sam, I'm bisexual" (or even his preferred description of "sexually nonpartisan"), and Sam just...never noticed. And it never came up in conversation. The idea of coming out to him now, after all these years, felt somehow ridiculous and embarrassing. Dean wasn't ashamed of who he was, but Sam would certainly think that was the reason, and even though he was pretty sure Sam would never judge him or react negatively, it would all end up being a really _big deal._

That was probably why, even though Aaron had been a really nice guy, and the sex had been awesome, Dean had hesitated a bit too long in taking things any further. Dating another man seriously would mean introducing him to Sam, at least eventually, and Dean just wasn't sure the relationship had enough potential to be worth having that conversation. He'd fuck it up in the end, Aaron would leave, and all that awkward sharing and caring would have been for nothing. At least, that was the point he was still debating with himself when Aaron had gotten tired and moved on.

Which just proved the point, didn't it? Dean wasn't relationship material. Dad always sneered that he wasn't man enough to get a woman to stick around, but the principle was apparently the same across the board.

"You guys didn't tell this girl—Tessa?—about me like that, did you? Because that's not fair to her, either. I'll come over, make nice, talk about all the remodeling stuff you want, but if she thinks this is some sort of double date, you need to fix it. I'm not signing on for that weirdness." He glared sternly at Sam, jaw firmed in resolve.

"Fine," Sam sighed. "I'm pretty sure Sarah just told her she could come see the new room, but I'll make sure that's all she thinks is going on. But if you decide you do like her when you meet her, Dean, don't shut it down for no good reason, okay? You don't have to marry her. Just…keep an open mind?" He smiled weakly, acknowledging that the argument was a lost cause but making it anyway.

 _There you go again. If you only knew,_ Dean mused. Instead of responding out loud, he clipped his shoes back into the pedals and took off down the trail, leaving Sam shouting accusations of "no fair, cheater!" behind him.


	3. Physical Therapy: Less Sexy Than Sounds

**Mid-April, 2 months to Race Day**

Castiel was lying on the grass in front of the apartment building, following a hard workout of mile repeats, bent nearly in half with one leg hugged to his chest. His eyes were closed, and the earbuds filling his head with angry metal music (the best thing for speed work, he'd found) kept him happily unaware of the rest of the world around him, until a shadow crossed his face. Opening his eyes, he saw Jimmy grimly gazing down at him.

"We may have a slight problem," Jimmy said.

* * *

"I'm sure it's nothing," Sam said in wide-eyed earnest. "I can take off training for a week, and it might heal. It's overuse, not, like, a tear or anything."

"Overuse injuries turn into chronic issues if they're not taken seriously," Cas said flatly. "Is it worth pushing yourself through knee pain if you end up walking with a limp for the rest of your life?"

"Come on, it's not that bad."

"Seen it happen," Jimmy sighed, lifting his glass of beer and swallowing almost half in one go. A cloud of gloom seemed to hover over the table, in sharp contrast to the rest of the lively bar.

"Then what?" Sam threw up his hands in frustration. He was angry at himself, it was clear, however much injuries were an unfortunate but common part of racing. "Because here's the thing. If this were just some race, I'd be pretty bummed about dropping out, but I'd just deal with it. This, on the other hand? Put aside the fact that Sandover shelled out a hefty fee to register us, and it's non-refundable; I know they can eat the cost without blinking, but that doesn't mean I won't be getting dirty looks from my boss about it. Then there's the betting pool. I know not a lot of people wanted to put money against Roman, but the people that did went in _hard,_ and you know Crowley won't let them out of those wagers, so they'll be looking for ways to take it out of our asses. _My_ ass, because it's my fault."

"And then there'll be Dick Roman himself," Jimmy groaned. "Sandover can't enter with only one team, so they'll have to drop, too. God, tell me _that_ won't come around to get us in exciting and gruesome ways."

"Somehow, the risk of crippling myself doesn't sound so bad," Sam muttered.

"No," the twins said in firm unison, startled by a third voice that growled the refusal at the same time. Turning to see, both brothers found themselves drawing a quiet gasp at the sight of the man approaching the table with a couple of bottles in his hands. Castiel had always prided himself on his ability to process details and nuances with a glance, part of what made him good at financial work. Now, confronted with this man, he felt as though his gaze slowed to a crawl, taking in the sandy hair ( _just the right length for tugging_ ), the warm green eyes ( _look at the crinkles—I need to see him smile_ ), the freckles cresting his cheekbones ( _need to count them, see where else they are_ ), the stubble ghosting his jaw ( _like he just rolled out of bed, and I want to roll him back into it_ ). His green flannel shirt hung unbuttoned to reveal a Zeppelin T-shirt worn soft enough to hug his muscular torso rather than conceal it, and his unapologetically bow-legged stride hinted _obscenely_ at the idea of those thighs wrapping around something...or someone.

Cas could feel Jimmy's body tense beside him, and he knew he was not alone in being affected. _Interesting._ It wasn't completely unheard of for the two of them to find the same person attractive, but it wasn't something that happened often; the attraction they felt toward each other had actually become a source of humor between them, since it was practically the only instance where they had been equally drawn to the "same" physical form.

The man wasn't looking at them at all yet, his attention being focused completely on Sam. He nearly slammed one of the beer bottles onto the table in front of him, glaring. "Not gonna happen, Sammy, I told you. Career suicide is still preferable to needing knee replacement surgery before you're fifty." He slid into the booth beside Sam then and finally looked up at Cas and Jimmy.

There was a moment when the expression on his face was almost comical. Whomever the man was, Sam had obviously told him about the triathlon, so the reaction to seeing mirror-image faces sitting opposite him wasn't as pronounced as it sometimes was at first meetings. The green eyes widened, and his jaw dropped open slightly, losing the tension it had carried when arguing with Sam. The stare flickered back and forth between them, and Cas would have sworn he felt a sudden sizzle of _something_. He nearly leaned forward across the table, chasing it without conscious intention.

A moment later, and it was gone. The newcomer's body jerked minutely, as if a shudder passed through him, and he swiveled his head to face Sam. "Um, hey. Assuming these are the other guys on your team, then?" His voice sounded slightly rougher, possibly a little embarrassed at having been speaking so candidly in front of strangers. Possibly.

"Yeah," Sam said, "This is Jimmy and Castiel." He pointed at each of them as they were introduced, and they reached across the booth to shake hands. "Guys, this is my big brother, Dean."

Dean nodded as he gripped each of their hands in turn, his own fingers strong and callused. Cas couldn't recall Sam mentioning much about his brother's background, but it was apparent that he was at least very accustomed to working with his hands, perhaps even professionally. He allowed himself a brief mental image of how that grip might feel around his cock, and promptly regretted it, as he began to harden immediately.

"Anyway, glad to hear you guys are on the same page about Sam wanting to 'push through the pain' here," Dean said, frowning at his brother. "Up until now, I'd have told anybody that he was the brains of our family, but I think he's trying to prove me wrong. He told me two weeks ago the knee was twinging at the beginning of his rides, and I told him to get it looked at then."

"Sure, like you're the model of self-care," Sam grumbled.

Dean glared but refused to take the bait. "You kept going instead, and now you've got no choice. I'm not building you a freaking hand-cycle, Sam. Grab your bag of frozen peas and take a seat on the bench!"

"He's right, Sam," Cas said, while Jimmy nodded. "I hate it, and it's going to be awful, but there's no other option. The likelihood of knee pain resolving completely within a week or two is low, particularly without addressing the root cause. I'm no doctor, but I'm going to guess that you've pretty much just been training on the bike, correct?" Sam shrugged sheepishly. "I thought as much. Your other muscles are probably weak, as well as tight from working behind a desk. Physical therapy is a blessing, but it doesn't work actual miracles."

Jimmy had pulled up the race website on his phone and was scrolling through the page of rules. "No refunds, no exceptions. We could defer a year with your doctor's note, but that's no real help in our situation. Hmm, we could sub in another cyclist, but I'm afraid our next-best choice would wind up being Martha, from the secretarial pool, pedaling her adult tricycle with the lovely floral basket on the back." He barked a humorless laugh.

"Can I see?" Sam asked. Jimmy surrendered the phone to Sam's outstretched hand, hoping lawyer eyes might see a loophole his own eyes had missed. Sam studied the page thoughtfully, tapping his fingers on the table. Finally, he said, "How much pull you think Roman has with the guys who run this?"

"Well, I don't know if he knows any of them personally, but based on what I know to be true, along with some of the less crazy rumors I've heard in the halls, Roman's managed to infiltrate the boards of most of the major corporations in the country with his own pals," Jimmy said. "He's like some sort of weird queen bee, taking over everybody else's hives from the inside."

"Jimmy, that's not remotely the way bees work," Castiel said, closing his eyes. Jimmy grinned, winking at Sam and Dean. The corners of Dean's lips twitched upward as he watched the teasing play, and Jimmy's grin broadened and grew warmer.

"The reason I ask is that, technically, your third person wouldn't have to be a Sandover employee. Event staff would have to approve it if they weren't, and it's only done on a limited basis, but...you could get somebody else."

Jimmy pursed his lips, thinking. "Okay, but the race is coming up fast. We'd need a cyclist who was already at least partly trained up. I mean, I know a few guys from college, but the good ones have full race calendars already, and they're not going to mess them up for a last minute thing like this."

A satisfied smirk had been slowly taking over Sam's face as he read, and now he was radiating with confidence. "I might know somebody. And I can personally vouch that he's at least as trained as I am." His eyes slid sideways, and suddenly Dean blinked.

"Oh, no. Don't you think about it." The sudden vehemence in his voice, along with the way his entire body suddenly tensed uneasily, immediately caught the twins' interest. Whatever Sam wasn't to think about, they were all beginning to consider now.

"Dean, it's the perfect solution! You're in better shape than I am to begin with, what with all the muscle groups you work just in your average workday. You probably ride more than I do on any given week, and you don't go easy, either. And that was before you started doing my long training rides with me!"

Dean was shaking his head stubbornly, but Cas and Jimmy exchanged a silent glance that conveyed absolute acceptance of the situation. "Dean," Cas said in the most serious tone he could muster, "I know this isn't necessarily within your comfort zone, but if Sam believes you can handle it, then I trust his judgment."

"Oh, I could _handle_ it. That's not even a question," Dean argued, scowling and folding his arms.

"Are you worried about the competition aspect of it?" Jimmy said, feigning confusion. Sam's initial description of Dean's attitude toward organized athletics had come flying back into the twins' memories; it was obvious that the obstacle was related to Dean's reluctance to view himself as an athlete, regardless of his ability. "Because, honestly, at this point, we'd be happy just to not have to drop out. We won't mind if you're a little slow. If the hills are too steep, you could even get off and push the bike!"

Cas knew what Jimmy was trying to do, but he thought that last remark might have been pushing things a little too far. Dean's eyes looked as though they were about to pop out of his head, and his mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. Cas briefly wondered whether Dean would actually survive long enough to do the race, or whether he'd simply have a stroke right there in the bar.

Finally, Dean was able to form words, however ineloquent. "With all due respect, Jimmy, fuck you."

"Dean," Sam said. It wasn't a reprimand; it was a quiet plea, and Dean couldn't help but respond to it, turning to look into his brother's face. Castiel felt like saluting the younger man; it was the most blatant application of puppy-dog eyes he thought he'd ever witnessed, and there was no way Dean was going to win. "I'm so sorry I'm putting this on you. I should have listened to you before, and now… You're probably the only one who I can ask. I'll be so screwed with my bosses; I think our department head even bet on me. I swear, I'll take it easy and heal up, not push myself, but...please?"

It really was an unavoidable rout. Cas almost felt sorry for Dean...but not really.

* * *

"His eyes, Jimmy. I swear, you can see every emotion he's feeling, right there in them. He's so _open._ I just…" Castiel sighed, tossing his keys on the table. "It's a really bad idea, though."

"Why?" Jimmy said, tilting his head to the side. "I think it sounds like a really, really _good_ idea. Those lips...you know, I can't decide whether it would be the best thing or the worst to have him on his knees in front of me with those fucking perfect lips wrapped around my cock, and then not be able to hear that gorgeous voice just _growling_ at me." He closed his eyes and shuddered, dropping onto the couch.

Cas smirked predatorily. As he slowly crossed the floor to sink into Jimmy's lap, he spun out the captivating vision further. "He works with his hands, Jimmy. The business card he gave us says he owns a hardware store. Just think about those strong, capable hands, how they'd grab your hips and pull you deeper into his throat." Jimmy moaned, writhing a little as Cas started to rut slowly against him. "Imagine his rough fingers stretching you open, so slowly and perfectly. Can you picture it?"

"Yes, Cassie...oh, don't stop." Jimmy fisted his hands into Cas's shirt, thrusting harder against him.

"Then again, maybe he wouldn't," Cas breathed, lowering his mouth to Jimmy's ear, "because I wouldn't _let_ him. What if I tied those hands behind him, held them tight and told him to use just his mouth? Do you think he'd let me, Jimmy? Do you think he'd be good for _both_ of us?" The fantasy floated through his mind, flickering with sensual novelty. For all that their exploits, both with each other and apart, could be considered deviant, one thing they'd never done was to share a partner between them. The opportunity had arisen before, but the risk of revealing what they had between themselves was always greater than anything offered by any guy or girl slyly whispering about their "kinky" twin-related fantasies.

"Oh, _fuck_." Apparently, the mental picture of having Dean like that was too powerful to resist; Jimmy arched his back away from the couch, coming hard in his jeans. Enthralled, Cas continued to thrust against him, working him through his orgasm while murmuring encouraging sounds against his throat. When the last spasms had faded, Jimmy blinked his eyes open and reached forward for his twin's fly which strained against his now painfully hard cock. As he popped the button, though, Cas quickly climbed off his lap.

"Bedroom, Jimmy. I have many more fantasies than that, and it's still early yet." Jimmy's answering grin was an exact match to his own.


	4. These Shorts Make My Ass Look Fast

**A few days later**

Dean still couldn't figure out exactly how he'd gotten himself talked into this. Sure, Sam's puppy-dog eyes were powerful, but years of exposure meant that Dean had built up a decent immunity. It had been ages since he'd been coerced into doing anything he probably wouldn't have done anyway in exchange for a round of drinks or a free meal. This...this was so far beyond his comfort zone, there was no _way_ a pair of pathetically begging eyes should have flipped him like that.

He'd been tag-teamed, that was it. Sam with his pitiful expressions, and then the Novak twins, coming at him with a one-two punch of good cop, bad cop. Between the blind encouragement and the condescension (seriously, _pushing_ the bike? Dean was getting mad all over again), by the time Sam opened up with the big guns, his head was so twisted around that he was probably lucky he hadn't agreed to do the whole triathlon himself. Considering his complete lack of swimming skills, that would have been quite the sight to see.

Of course, he wasn't much more of a runner than he was a swimmer, but that didn't alter the fact that he was standing in a parking lot at 8 a.m. on a Saturday, wearing old sweats, about to pretend that he was. When Cas had suggested that the three of them spend a weekend morning laying out a new game plan and discussing training strategy, Dean had suggested a diner breakfast; he'd been met with twin brows raised in challenge. _Getting to be habit,_ he grumbled to himself now, recalling how easily his suggestion had been replaced with this one. _Got to stop giving in every time they ask. Stupid eyebrows. Stupid hot faces._

Dean wasn't completely oblivious to why he was saying "yes" with alarming frequency. He'd felt off-balance since the second he'd lifted his gaze and locked eyes with Jimmy and Cas across the bar table. There had been an instant connection, and in that flash, he'd felt attraction of a sort he hadn't experienced in years, if ever. It was a dangerous moment; if Sam hadn't been there...if there hadn't been _two_ of them…

But Sam _was_ there, and there _were_ two extraordinarily gorgeous men, both looking at him so intensely that he wasn't sure if they wanted to eat him or...eat him. His mouth had gone dry, and he turned tail and scrambled for the shores of sanity, found in politely firm handshakes and guarded conversation.

And now look where he'd wound up.

He'd expected the brothers to arrive by car, perhaps each in their own vehicle, so he was caught off guard when he suddenly heard the crunch of footsteps on gravel behind him. Turning on his heel, he saw Cas and Jimmy jogging across the lot toward him, the barest sheen of sweat giving the only evidence of exertion. "Hello, Dean," Cas said when they reached his side. Grinning, he put his hands on his hips. "Good to see you here and awake. Jimmy was convinced we'd have to call you, or even drag you out of bed."

"I said I'd be here, didn't I?" Dean said, scowling at Jimmy, who responded with raised hands and wide eyes.

"Hey, Dean? First thing you need to know, if you're going to spend time with us? Cas is a fucking liar. I never said that." Castiel didn't respond to the denial, merely smirking at Dean with amusement in his eyes.

Dean rolled his eyes. "So, what, is this going to be like one of those old logic puzzles? 'One of us only tells the truth, and the other only lies'? If I guess wrong, there's a lion coming for me?"

"Oh, no, nothing like that."

"Not at all." A blue eye winked. "No amount of logic to explain us. And you probably shouldn't trust either of us."

Unable to suppress a snort, Dean shook his head. "Duly noted. Guess I better stock up on lion repellant."

"Or just learn to run fast," Cas agreed cheerfully. Grabbing an ankle with one hand and pulling it upward behind him to touch his lower back, he sighed lightly into the stretch. "We only live a couple of miles from here, so we figured that would make a decent warm-up before we start. Have you gotten warmed up yet?"

 _Show-offs._ "I'm good," Dean said, attempting to grab his own ankle for a stretch and feeling his fingers scrabble uselessly for a hold on his sock.

"No, don't stretch cold muscles," Cas urged, dropping his foot. "Never, ever stretch before you warm up at least a little. Cold muscles can tear. We'll just take it slow at first. It's not a speed workout, anyway. Just some easy miles while we talk, okay?"

As Cas turned and started walking toward the park trailhead, Jimmy caught Dean's sleeve and held him back slightly. "Don't panic, but Cassie's 'easy miles' are a lot of people's 'suicide sprints.' I'll keep him in check, but don't be afraid to say something if he forgets and starts taking off." He winked again, patted Dean's arm, and jogged after his brother.

At first, Dean wondered whether the twins were patronizing him again. The pace they set heading up the wide, crushed limestone trail was more than easy, and he was tempted to complain that he didn't need to be babied. Then several things began to happen. First, Castiel started asking him questions about his work and training schedules, what he knew about the race, and what he knew about racing in general. Talking stole air Dean might have used for running, and he had to concentrate to keep from gasping a little.

Next, the path began to narrow and then to climb. Limestone gave way to dirt, with sporadic rocks and roots that threatened to catch toes. When the trail was no longer wide enough for the three to run side by side, Jimmy dropped back a few paces at a nod from his brother; not long after that, Dean found himself running behind Cas, Jimmy following at the end of the line.

And that was the cause of the third thing happening, which just made everything so much harder. Rather than the sweatpants that Dean had chosen (and was now regretting, as he grew warmer and sweatier), Jimmy and Cas had shown up in running shorts. _Short_ running shorts. The kind that were designed around maximized airflow and ease of movement and other grand ideas Dean was sure were scientifically and athletically sound, but which added up to a whole lot of tanned and toned muscle on display, bounding along directly in front of his face.

Blinking was not an option, not if he didn't want to faceplant in the dirt. He tried keeping his eyes higher, but that just meant he was now gazing at a frankly magnificent ass, practically glistening in the sunlight, because _somebody_ had decided that running shorts fabric needed to be shiny. He almost felt hypnotized, watching the muscles bunch and flex under the thin material, perfectly round orbs bouncing lightly with each step. It was mesmerizing, so much so that he didn't realize Cas had asked him a question until he turned his head to investigate Dean's silence.

"Oh, uh, sorry. Just watching out for rocks," Dean said, flushing red and hoping Cas hadn't noticed exactly where his eyes had been trained.

"Yeah, the rocks can be tricky," Jimmy's voice rose from behind him. Dean had nearly forgotten he was there. _Can he tell I've been ogling his brother?_ Dean prayed that it wasn't obvious from behind. A trickle of sweat slowly made its way down the back of Castiel's neck, and Dean tried very, very hard to banish sudden thoughts of chasing it with his tongue.

"You're doing pretty good, though," Jimmy continued. "Thought you weren't a runner?"

"I'm not," Dean confirmed breathlessly. "But it's not like I haven't _run_ out here before. Paintball—our shop sponsors a tournament a couple of times a year. Can't be falling over your own feet when you're being chased by a guy with a gun."

"You don't just hold the tournament, you also participate?" Cas sounded interested, though he didn't stop running. He was picking up speed, little by little, though not enough that Dean felt justified in complaining yet.

"Hell, yeah," Dean growled, smirking. "Actually brought in outside judges, then put Benny and me on separate teams, just so we couldn't be accused of cheating when we smoke 'em."

"'When'?" Jimmy chuckled. "Not 'if'?"

"What can I say? I play to win. If the other team comes out on top, I'm a good sport, but I'm sure as hell gonna make them work for it."

"Preach!" Jimmy cheered loudly, following that with a whoop that echoed through the woods around them. Castiel laughed, and they continued the charge up the slope. Dean felt a little less on edge, somehow; the mood had become less intense and more playful, and he found that even though he was now really starting to struggle with the climb, he was actually having a good time. The fact that his vision was starting to swim a little as sweat ran into his eyes helped distract him from Castiel's ass, still leading him along like a pornographic will-o'-the-wisp. He still had to deal with the frequent urge to reach out and grab, but it was tempered by a growing appreciation for the person to whom the ass was attached. Dean was beginning to genuinely _like_ these guys, which he hadn't expected at all.

There were very few "tells" between the twins; if they had been standing motionless, dressed identically, and remaining perfectly silent, telling one from the other would have been nearly impossible. Here in the woods, though, when they were both feeling relaxed and happy, Dean found himself quickly picking up on little differences. The most immediately apparent contrast was between their voices. How two sets of vocal cords built from the same set of genetic material produced such dissimilar ranges and sounds was a mystery. Dean might have suspected Cas as a closet chain-smoker, listening to the deep and rough sound of his voice, but there was no way a guy this dedicated to cardio messed around with smokes. Jimmy's voice almost sounded youthful in comparison, though it was at least as deep as Dean's.

The way they spoke also revealed differences in the twins' natures. Jimmy, yelping as he was smacked by a low-hanging branch he hadn't noticed until too late, shouted, "Hey, how about a little heads-up from the guy in front?"

"Oh, pardon. Branch!" Castiel's completely deadpan reply gave no hint that he was suppressing his own laughter; he stayed straight-faced until Jimmy squawked and ripped a handful of leaves from a tree to throw at him.

Higher and higher, on and on. Just when he thought he was finally going to have to swallow his pride and cry "uncle," Castiel raised a hand and called out, "Stopping." Dean and Jimmy shuffled up behind him, Dean trying hard to appear as unaffected as the other two, despite the desire to flop down on the nearest flat surface. He was in good shape, but this sort of exertion was far outside his comfort zone.

"So that's about two miles, halfway around the loop," Cas said. "Not bad at all. Now, tell me something, Dean. If you were on your bike, and you were looking at that…" he gestured to the trail ahead of them. "What would you do?"

Dean crossed in front of Cas and looked down. They had apparently reached the top of the hill; in front of them was a much steeper descent than the gradual trail they'd ascended. It was rocky, and the dirt path twisted and turned sharply around the small obstacles all the way to the bottom.

"Well," he said slowly, "main rule of downhill cycling is 'don't do anything sudden.' Keep your eyes well ahead of where you are, and don't panic and hit the brakes. You'll kill yourself trying to stop, so once you're in, commit."

"Good," Cas said, smiling. "Same goes for running downhill. Stay loose, stay light, and don't try to dig in your heels and slow down. I'll go, then Jimmy. Give us a good head start, just in case somebody falls." And with that, he took off, bombing down the slope. Dean's jaw dropped slightly, watching; rather than looking clumsy, Cas seemed to float from ridge to ridge, occasionally using flat rocks as springboards to propel himself forward. He made the treacherous run look effortless, arms loosely held out for balance.

"Fuckin' beautiful, isn't he?" Jimmy said quietly. He was smiling fondly, shaking his head; the words were so close to what he'd been thinking himself, they caught Dean off guard, and he couldn't help staring. With a quick inhale and a wordless shout like a war cry, Jimmy plunged after Cas. He lacked the runner's grace of his brother, but he made up for it in sheer exuberance, barreling forward with abandon. Dean half expected to see him trip at any moment, but core strength and luck seemed sufficient to keep him upright and moving.

Watching the twins tear down the hill, Dean couldn't stop laughing, full of vicarious pleasure. The message was clear, watching them go: no second-guessing, no time for doubt. That wasn't always an easy step for Dean, but when it felt right...he took a deep breath, blew it out, and committed.

* * *

Later that afternoon, high on adrenaline and the perfection of awesome bacon and egg sandwiches (demonstrating the delightful proof that not all endurance sports junkies are also part rabbit, so take _that,_ Sammy), Dean sat back in his seat and contentedly watched Castiel and Jimmy argue the finer points of speed versus strength when attempting to escape from a theoretical herd of zombies, and he realized that he was screwed.

Jimmy and Cas were awesome. They were funny, both freaking geniuses, phenomenally gorgeous, and the perfect combination of intense and relaxed. For all that they shared in common, he loved the neat little quirks that had kept appearing throughout the day; Jimmy had been catching him with sarcastic little quips all day, keeping him in constant laughter, while Cas seemed to be able to see right into Dean's head and know what he was about to say before he opened his mouth. He managed to perfectly tread the line between intimidating and warm.

Dean was definitely crushing hard, he was forced to admit. But there was no point in denying that he was crushing on _both_ of them, both for what they had in common and what they didn't. It was hopeless; there was no tie-breaker to be had. And since he couldn't choose one, even if he had the ghost of a chance that he was sure he didn't, he couldn't have either.

 _Probably better this way,_ he decided. _This way I can get over any feelings early, without anybody needing to know. No need to get shot down, no need to deal with any Sam awkwardness if the weirdness spilled into his workplace. I'll just appreciate the hotness in silence._

"I'm right, though, right, Dean?" Jimmy was saying. Dean pulled himself back to the present a hair too late; the twins were looking at him with amused concern.

"Are you still with us, Dean, or did we break you already?" Cas teased.

"Nah, I don't break that easily." Dean forced a cocky grin onto his face. "Tell me about the zombies again."

* * *

"You have no idea how hard it was to keep my mouth shut." Jimmy cast his eyes heavenward, pursing his lips in a silent whistle. "To my dying day, I will never be able to explain how he didn't faceplant at least once, with the amount of time he _wasn't_ looking at the trail."

"You've said," Castiel said, lips curving upward crookedly, as they walked back home. The combination of the very satisfying run and the pleasurable company afterward had him preening like a cat in the sun. "I'll have to take your word for it, since I have no actual proof. You were the one with the view."

"And thank you for _that_ little gift, by the way. I still can't decide whether I want to kiss you or kill you for it. Sadist."

"Weren't you the one who had been lamenting not having seen enough of the 'rear view' the other night? I was merely helping you out a little, granting your wish." Only the twinkle in his eye showed that he wasn't being innocently sincere.

"You knew damn well what you were doing. Should have seen it coming when you put on the racing shorts—those are obscene, even for you." Cas shrugged, not denying the accusation. "Then you arranged it so Dean had a front row seat, and _I_ had a front row seat to his sexual frustration. Oh, and I believe we can now officially lay to rest any lingering concerns that he's not into men."

"Then the morning was a success all around," Cas said cheerfully. "Well, except for the fact that, as you said, you kept your mouth shut. Not like you not to seize an opportunity, Jimmy."

"I was supposed to seduce him on a trail run? With my brother there? Little inappropriate, don't you think?"

Cas looked at him sideways. "Tina Murray."

"Okay, that was a completely different situation."

"Maggie and Michelle Griffin."

"That was hiking, not running, and you were—"

"Will Montgom—"

"Okay, okay! Point taken!" Jimmy threw up his hands, huffing in exasperation. "But this _was_ different. I was...having too much fun."

Castiel raised an eyebrow, considering the absurdity of the statement coming from his twin, but then he nodded, understanding. "You like him."

"Yeah. Don't get me wrong, I seriously want to get into his pants, more now than ever. I also want to grab a beer with him and watch bad movies, or hang out in the kitchen watching him bake one of those pies he was going on about." He bit his lip. "Don't make fun."

"I won't. It's possible you're...not alone." The slight confession made him blush, but he couldn't deny it. He was feeling the broader attraction, too.

"You, too?" Jimmy gawped. "What is _that?_ Both of us, hot for the same person, and it's _not_ just physical?"

Cas shook his head ruefully. "I'm not discounting that there's some sort of witchcraft at play, since that seems more likely than that Dean Winchester is really that perfect."

"Nobody's perfect."

"No, they aren't," Castiel hummed thoughtfully. "He's hot-tempered, crude, and rather impatient."

Jimmy snorted derisively. "Are you talking about him or me?"

"He also has a rather maddening tendency to deflect anything remotely complimentary," Cas added. "Humility is one thing, but it was almost impressive to watch the mental gymnastics he used to prevent you from telling him he did well today."

"Yeah, that was frustrating," Jimmy sighed. "It kind of made me want to push harder, though. Find the key to the puzzle. Is it nuts? I mean, this isn't exactly the way I do things. And…" He paused. "If you're into him, too...I mean, I won't lie, it would hurt to step back, but I would if you asked."

Cas glanced around them, up and down the sidewalk. Seeing nobody, he steered Jimmy between two buildings and took his jaw in hand to place a firm kiss on his mouth. "I know. And I'd do the same. But we're probably getting ahead of ourselves, don't you think? We know he's attracted to us—and before you say it, I'd like to remind you that we are identical twins, so a physical attraction to me presupposes one toward you, unless you think the extra inches of muscle on your shoulder muscles and on my quads would make that much difference in the matter." He kissed Jimmy again. "I think it's also a safe bet to say that he enjoys our company. Both are important, but neither explicitly indicates that he's open to the idea of more. Remember, he hasn't hit on either of us yet, either."

"To be fair," Jimmy murmured slyly, "I think trail run trysts are sort of a niche kink."

"Perhaps our strategy should be to allow him to make the first move," Castiel suggested. "If he pursues one of us, we'll be able to see more clearly how to handle it. And no matter what, no jealousy or judgment."

"Of course not!" Jimmy looked almost offended at the idea. "So long as, when it happens, to whomever it happens, there's no secrets. I want details, Cassie." He winked salaciously, and Cas snaked a hand down and swatted his ass in mock chastisement.


	5. Body Glide is Not Lube

Benny cast a smug glance at Dean the next morning when he limped into the hardware store. "Little sore there, brother?" he said, laughter barely contained as he sipped a travel mug of coffee and leaned back against the counter. The store wouldn't open for another hour or so, since their Sunday hours were limited, so he wasn't concerned about being professional. Not that he worried much about it in front of customers, anyway. "Did we make bad choices last night?"

"Screw you, Benny," Dean said. He was aching in muscles he rarely had much cause to consider; his calves alone were on fire. For a moment, he considered letting his partner believe he was suffering the effects of a night out, but decided the truth might get him more sympathy. "Running sucks."

"Now, since when do you run?" Benny asked, tilting his head to the side. "Your bike busted or something?"

"Just doing my brother a favor, for which he's gonna owe me big," Dean explained. He described the race roughly, not going into too much detail. Benny wasn't much of an athlete himself, preferring hunting and fishing to more physically exhausting activities. When he finished, Benny scratched his head.

"Pretending like you're escaping from prison, swimming through sharks, running and biking all over the place. What do you get if you win?"

And wasn't that the kicker? Sam would have gotten esteem at Sandover for being on the winning team, but Dean wouldn't even get that. "Negotiations are in progress," he growled. Well, they would be when he called Sam tonight.

Benny guffawed, stopping only when Garth tapped him on the head as he passed, saying, "Leave him alone, Benjamin." His scolding frown was hardly a threat, though; it quickly morphed into his usual friendly smile as he carried the boxes in his arms to the aisle where the contents belonged. "I think it sounds like a lot of fun. I hope you boys have a real good time!"

Benny and Dean rolled their eyes at each other. Garth was simply the least competition-driven person they'd ever met. He was too laid-back to stress over much of anything. It wasn't even clear what his actual job at the store was; Benny had decided to put "associate" on the paperwork when they hired him to help out, but Garth pretty much just did whatever needed doing, the way they all did.

"Well, don't go beatin' yourself up any more than you usually do," Benny said. "Bad enough risking your neck on two wheels. Don't need to go crippling yourself with jogging. Don't we make you miserable enough 'round here, you gotta go looking for more?"

"It wasn't so bad," Dean protested. "Actually, maybe we could start doing more stuff around here. The paintball goes over really well. What if we started up a cycling team or something? Put our name on some jerseys, maybe hosted a race?"

Benny and Garth looked at him with wide eyes. "I dunno about all of that, brother," Benny said. "I mean, I guess, if you want. But Andrea gives me enough guff with the time I'm already puttin' in. Don't think she'd be too pleased if I started spending even more time away from home."

"I could make some jerseys, but I'm not much on a bike," Garth said. "Had one when I was a kid, but I guess I never got around to taking off the training wheels. But you can do it! I'll stock up on Gatorade for us, and Bess will put up posters in town!"

"Nah, that's okay," Dean sighed. It wasn't anything new that his closest friends were also near complete homebodies. They had both been happily married for years, and when they left the store at night, just getting them to come out for a beer was a major accomplishment. He was happy for them, but he'd be lying if it didn't leave him feeling lonely on occasion.

He recalled the way the twins' faces had lit up when they'd seen him yesterday morning. They had both seemed genuinely pleased to see him. Spending time running with them had made him feel appreciated on a personal level, which he hadn't realized he'd been missing. When they trained together, he felt like maybe, in some small way, he could finally be _enough._ Jimmy and Cas made him feel like he was enough.

He was surprised to find just how much he was looking forward to doing some more of this. _New friends,_ he thought happily, refusing to acknowledge the little voice whispering skeptically about his ability or resolve to keep things that simple.

 **T-minus 6 weeks**

With only about a month and a half until race day, Dean was feeling a little paranoid. He knew intellectually why Sam had wound up injured; cross-training is an actual _thing,_ Sammy, and sitting all day really is bad for you, like all the doctors say. He knew he was avoiding the same mistakes, but at peak training mileage, aches and soreness were unavoidable, and they made him nervous. He was stretching and icing every chance he got. The one and only time he actually attempted the full ice bath Sam suggested, he'd screamed so loudly it was a wonder the neighbors hadn't called the police. Cas and Jimmy were in hysterics when he told them later.

Jimmy had suggested spending some time stretching and massaging his legs in the sauna at the gym they used, on the premise that warm muscles were more relaxed. Dean didn't know whether there was any actual science behind that, but he couldn't deny that sitting around in a sauna sounded really fucking good right then. Jimmy told him he'd leave a guest pass for him at the front desk, encouraging him to come in the evening, when he was there to swim.

It was a very large gym, with hallways leading all over the place and vague, hippie-ish signage ("Relaxation Studio" had him choking on a giggle fit), so he followed the smell of chlorine, assuming that the sauna would be near the pool. Plumbing logic is indisputable, he figured.

When he found his way through a locker room and into the pool area, changing clothes along the way, he spotted Jimmy almost immediately. His mouth went suddenly dry.

It was more than the fact that Jimmy was wearing nothing but a swim cap, goggles, and a small red Speedo. All that would have been plenty sufficient to have Dean standing paralyzed on the pool deck; Jimmy was a vision of sleek, wet skin, and there was nowhere Dean could look that didn't make him harder by the second. Beyond that, though, it was watching Jimmy move through the water that had Dean's brain feel as though it was melting out of his ears.

Dean knew almost nothing about swimming. He was pretty sure Jimmy was just doing a simple crawl stroke, arms moving forward and back in alternation, head turning to the side for air on every third pull. His legs scissored slightly from his hips, barely bending at all at the knee, not splashing at all. Everything about it looked so refined and effortless that it startled Dean when he realized how fast Jimmy was moving; with only a handful of strokes, Jimmy had reached the far edge of the pool, ducked under the water, and did some sort of complicated twisting move that had him surfacing several body lengths back the way he had come, already pulling for the other side again.

"He's showing off, you know," a deep voice growled, full of dry amusement. Dean spun, flushing guiltily at having been caught watching.

"What are you, a ninja?" he blurted.

"Hardly," Cas said, grinning. He turned back to the pool and tilted his head to the side, watching Jimmy swim. "Watch him. Every sport has its 'tell,' and everybody has their little blinks and twitches that give them away. Look, there, when he does his flip turn." Dean watched Jimmy do the complicated somersault move again, even more impressive from the closer vantage point. "A perfect flip turn is completely tucked, exploding outward off the wall. Jimmy knows we're here, so instead of just tucking, he's...well."

This time, Dean noticed that Jimmy's arms were slightly extended when he twisted, shoulders and deltoid muscles flexing ever so subtly. Now that he knew where to look, particularly knowing it was intentional, he couldn't pull his eyes away.

"Not that he should be working on flip turns at all," Cas was saying. "No walls to kick from in the bay. He's cheating the effort. Jimmy always does love an audience, though." He wasn't looking away from his twin at all, and Dean wondered whether he should feel awkward. Cas didn't seem disgruntled; either he hadn't noticed Dean ogling his brother like a damn pervert, or else...he didn't mind. Wasn't that weird? He felt like it should be weird.

 _Stroke, stroke._ There was amazingly little noise, compared to what Dean would have expected, and the sound of his swallowing was loud in his ears. Casting about for something to say, his eyes caught on a tattoo he had no idea how he'd missed seeing. Along the side of Jimmy's rib cage ran a thin, curving black line, forming simple waves. A simple, stylized shark fin rose from the waves where they ended above his hip. "Nice ink," Dean said, wondering at the hoarseness of his own voice.

"College," Cas responded succinctly. "Mom was unimpressed. He knew he wasn't going to be able to keep her from seeing, considering the required uniform, so he decided just to get what he wanted and deal with the consequences as they came. Not a bad philosophy." He glanced up at Dean. "Don't you think?"

Dean could do nothing but nod.

 **T-minus 5 weeks**

The good thing about compulsory long bike rides is that they translated into long hours away from other people, along with their thoughts, opinions, and suggestively raised eyebrows.

The bad thing about compulsory long bike rides is that they offer little distraction from one's own thoughts, feelings, and fantasies about other people and their damn suggestively-raised eyebrows.

Okay, so maybe Dean was spending a little too much time thinking about...things he shouldn't be thinking about. Blue eyes, dry chuckles, sharp minds with senses of humor that jumped from playful to downright warped (in the best possible way). And, yeah, that was before he even managed to get below the neck in his daydreaming; it was very difficult to keep pedaling once that happened, he'd discovered the hard way. Bicycles and erections didn't mesh well.

It wouldn't have been so maddening if he could pick a single train of thought to explore, and by "train of thought," he meant "target to perv on." It was embarrassing in the extreme, and he was completely ashamed of himself. Normal guys with crushes were up-front about it, actually _talking_ to the other person, maybe asking them out. Normal guys did not pretend nothing was up, then go home and jack off to thoughts of guys who had no idea they were being ogled by somebody they thought was their friend. And normal guys with any kind of dignity _definitely_ didn't do that with _two_ guys, who were _brothers._

The worst part of it was that when he thought about trying to stay away from the Novaks, or keep them at arm's length, it made something in his chest ache. He really liked both of them, outside of anything physical. It had only been a few weeks, but Dean already counted the two of them among his best friends—not that he had many close friends, anyway, which made things worse. Maybe he'd been a little lonely before he'd started spending time with them, afraid of burdening Benny or the other guys at the shop with keeping him company all the time. Jimmy and Cas seemed to like him, too; their genuine smiles when they saw him made him feel warm inside.

But he was going to ruin that, because he couldn't stop seeing them naked when he closed his eyes.

If he could finally get over his worries and self-consciousness, grow a pair, and ask one of them out...who? Jimmy, with his playful cockiness, the slight touch of self-deprecation in his words that kept him from sounding full of himself? Castiel, with that quietly confident aura that made Dean want to just fall to his knees in every sense and implication of the gesture? If he asked one twin out, would he regret closing a possible connection with the other? That assumed either twin was even interested in that way; what if they weren't, and he wound up being shut out by both?

And then there was the worst, vilest part of him, which whispered seductive thoughts about _not choosing._ The way that Cas had almost seemed to encourage Dean to watch Jimmy... That night, Dean had imagined similar murmured encouragement as he'd stroked himself, picturing Jimmy kneeling before him, while Cas stood behind Dean, chin hooked over his shoulder, and ran warm hands across his chest while he watched with lust-filled eyes as his twin sucked Dean down…

He was a terrible person. He was a terrible person who was going to have to pull off the trail for a moment and find a hidden clump of trees nearby, because he couldn't very well ride like _this,_ dammit.

A small mercy, he was so constantly pent-up over the whole fiasco that it never took long to "resolve" things, and he was only about ten minutes late getting back to the trailhead, where Cas was waiting, post-run, to meet him and give him a ride to lunch with Jimmy. Dean blamed his lateness and flushed face on a flat tire.

 **T-minus 4 weeks**

"Rain sucks, man," Jimmy said sympathetically. "I mean, it's not like it affects my training too much, though I'd rather be doing more open-water stuff at this point, but it'll be okay. Cas'll run in anything short of hail or tornadoes, so a bit of liquid sunshine doesn't bug him at all. You, though, are upping the ante on breaking your neck if you hydroplane, or getting hit by cars with drivers who can't see you there. Still sucks, though."

Dean nodded. He was glaring at the gym's bike trainer, into which he'd fastened his road bike, hating the idea of spending a couple of hours pedalling in place. "I'd use Sam's trainer, with all the bells and whistles, but when it comes down to it, it doesn't make a difference right now. It's _boring._ "

Jimmy shrugged. "Well, at least here, you can have some company." The spinning studio at the gym was away from the crowded main cardio floor, which Dean appreciated, but it still held a handful of spinning bikes. Nobody was actually using any; Jimmy had sweet-talked the key from the desk clerk so they could access the room outside of class hours.

"You going to ride, too?" Dean had never seen Jimmy on a bike, even though all three of them occasionally ran short distances together.

"Maybe. Probably not," Jimmy said, winking. He grabbed a stability ball from a closet along the wall and bounced it once. "I'll just hang out and stretch, maybe do some core stuff. Those seats chafe." He made a grotesque face, which had Dean snickering.

"Only if you're unprepared," Dean volleyed back, stooping over the workout bag he'd tossed in the corner and coming up with a large squeeze tube. He tossed it to Jimmy, who took one look at the name of the anti-chafing skin lubricant and almost fell over laughing.

"Seriously? 'Chamois Butt'r'?" he gasped. "What, the jokes about chafing and lube weren't writing themselves fast enough, so they had to actually go out of their way to put 'butt' in the brand name?"

Dean shrugged, catching the tube as Jimmy tossed it back. "Hey, at least the stuff works. One of those things you do _not_ want to skimp on, either. I'm practically buying it in bulk these days."

"You and Cas, both," Jimmy said, "except he uses one called 'Body Glide.' All the innuendo, slightly less ass-centric. I guess maybe runners have more body parts they need to keep lubed up?" He rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. "He seems to think I should start experimenting with it, since I haven't done a whole lot of swimming in a wetsuit. So far, the only experimentation I've done was once back in college—hooked up with somebody from a bar, was a little light on the essentials, but still had the gym bags in the car. As it turns out, despite the name, Body Glide will not work as lube."

"Ow!" Dean winced in sympathy, laughing again. "I'll keep that in mind." _And try_ not _to imagine you in the backseat of your car with someone—another dude? Sure sounds like it—stripped down, steaming up the glass, kissing frantically, hands working desperately to get things slippery enough…_

"Music?" Jimmy suggested, heading to the stereo in the corner. "That's one of the perks, I guess. Can't ride safely with headphones in, but in here," he gestured toward the speakers, "we can at least pass the time with tunes."

Dean agreed, blinking away the daydream, and watched in curiosity as Jimmy fiddled with his phone and attached it to the stereo. He wondered what sort of music Jimmy would have on there for his own entertainment. To his happy surprise, he recognized the opening chords of an old Judas Priest song—a little heavier than his own tastes in '80s rock, but in the right era, at least. It was definitely a good song for cycling, too; the tempo was driving enough to get his legs going hard.

Jimmy grinned, throwing up metal horns with his hands, then dropped onto his stomach across the ball to do some reverse crunches. Dean quickly tore his eyes away from the sight of the flexing muscles on display; he focused on the wall clock, trying to keep his RPMs up where they should be. After a minute, he started listening to the lyrics of the song:

 _Sounds like an animal, panting to the beat  
Groan in the pleasure zone, gasping from the heat  
Lunge to the maximum, spread-eagled to the wall  
You're well equipped to take it all  
So eat me alive…_

 _Well,_ Dean thought. _That's not at all homoerotic, is it?_ He glanced at Jimmy out of the corner of his eye, and he could have sworn he saw a smirk on his lips, just for a moment, as he tightened his glutes to pull his core back in line for another rep.

 **T-minus 3 weeks**

May was almost over, and the rain that had lasted through the last week had finally let up, leaving puddles that glistened in the sun. Castiel had recommended that Dean bring an extra pair of socks for after this run. "You waste more energy than you save by trying to avoid getting your feet wet," he had warned him, then grinned wickedly. "Besides, jumping in puddles is as much fun as an adult as it was as a kid."

They'd gone to a park that had wide, well-groomed dirt trails, since cabin fever had all three men feeling like they needed to blow off a little dust and push the speed. "How about a fartlek run?" Jimmy suggested, and Cas nodded approval.

"A fart-what?" Dean eyed them both, wondering if they were messing with him.

"Fartlek. It's Swedish, meaning 'speed play.' Basically, Jimmy wants to play a sort of tag." Castiel's eyes sparkled with excitement. "It'll be more fun with three people, too. Jimmy, you start, since it was your idea. He'll pick the pace, then one of us will pass him and either speed up or slow down, depending on what you'd rather do."

"Cas thinks it's fun because when he's in the lead, he picks a pace that makes passing him...shall we say 'challenging'?" Jimmy elbowed his brother in the side teasingly. "It's less 'tag' and more 'Monkey See, Monkey Do,' in my opinion. And house rules say that if the leader jumps an obstacle or something similar, the followers do likewise."

It sounded simple, and it was. Jimmy led off with a moderate pace, letting them warm up for the first half-mile. After that, Cas patted Dean on the shoulder, prompting him to take the next lead. Dean suspected that Cas wanted him to get a turn before the group wound up sprinting and he got too tired. He picked up speed and passed Jimmy on the next straight, calling, "I'm up!"

It was a headier feeling than he'd expected, being "chased" by the twins. He mounted the next hill and plummeted down the other side, caught off guard by a large branch that had fallen across the path. "Jump!" he yelled, warning them against tripping. _As though they would,_ he chastised himself; he laughed when he heard them whoop as they leapt the branch.

Cas next led, and true to Jimmy's warning, he drove them fast. He also didn't seem to miss a single puddle, hitting them hard enough to make water splash all the way up his legs. Dean and Jimmy were equally soaked soon enough, and Jimmy finally surged forward to pass his brother, shouting, "Slowing now!" as he did.

They fell into a comfortable jog, breathing hard as they recovered. Cas glanced sideways, checking in on Dean. "Doing okay, there?" he said, glowing despite the sweat on his face. Dean nodded, feeling his heart stumble a little in a way that had nothing to do with the exertion.

"Wondered if Jimmy was going to be able to catch you," he huffed. It was warm out, and the sweat sliding in his own eyes was distracting; he grabbed his shirt tail, yanking it up to try to swipe some of it off his forehead. When he lowered it, Cas was staring straight ahead, looking a little more tense than he had.

Dean cursed himself. _Did he think I was flirting? Was I_ actually _flirting?_ He felt like some of the easy joy in the air had been drained away. _This is why I need to get control of myself. If I actually came onto Cas, or to Jimmy, I'd probably ruin everything._

Even though he could have used a few more minutes to catch his breath, Dean furiously pumped his legs, passing Jimmy and setting a brutal, punishing pace until he was too exhausted to think about anything but his next breath.


	6. Socially Acceptable Threesomes

Castiel was wild with Jimmy that evening, wilder than could be accounted for even by the adrenaline of a hard workout. Not that Jimmy was complaining. The nails raking down his back as they rocked into each other, the teeth leaving bruises and prints across his collarbones and around his nipples (more excuses at the gym would be needed), the hoarseness from the way Cas had fucked deep into his throat as he gripped his hair...By the time they were sprawled across the bed, sticky and exhausted, he felt deliciously used and hazy.

That didn't mean he was going to let it go without asking.

Castiel bit his lip and insisted that he was just aggravated by bureaucratic nonsense at work, which was complete and obvious bullshit, since he'd been fine earlier that day. The fact that he hadn't even provided a believable lie—which would _have_ to be good, considering their total inability to fool one another—revealed just how preoccupied he really was. Honestly, Jimmy thought, it wasn't as though there were so very many possible reasons for that. Pushing would do no good and would possibly backfire, so he lay back with folded arms and waited in patient silence for Cas to crack.

"I can't keep doing it," Cas finally said, voice muffled as he turned his head into his pillow. "This waiting for Dean to make a move, pretending that whatever he decides to do is fine, whether he chooses to make a move on you or me or neither of us...it's killing me."

Jimmy grimaced. He'd been counting on Cas to be the one to maintain the backbone on this issue. "Uh, yeah. Probably should have seen that coming, though. Since when have you or I ever been the kind of people to stay all passive and just react instead of taking the lead? Doesn't fit, doesn't work."

"True," Cas sighed. "I should probably confess that I haven't exactly been 'hands-off,' one hundred percent." When Jimmy narrowed his eyes, he held up a defensive palm. "Not like that! I only mean that I may have...encouraged him. Just a little."

"Flirting?"

"He was already watching you. I simply gave him some further guidance in the matter."

"Wait, I thought you had it bad for him, too," Jimmy said, momentarily confused. "Why push him off toward me?"

"Honestly, I'm not sure, myself." Cas sighed, rolling over to face Jimmy. "Seeing him there, all flushed and practically salivating at the sight of you… I don't know when I've ever been more turned on. You were your always-gorgeous self, and throwing his reaction on top of that made it impossible to resist. I wasn't jealous, and I wouldn't have been, had he acted on what he was obviously thinking. Being involved, though, even just as the devil on his shoulder…" He broke off, closing his eyes on a frustrated whine.

"You're more devilish angel than pure devil," Jimmy reassured him, squeezing his leg encouragingly.

"You know, the marks on your neck rather indicate otherwise." Cas groaned and rolled further still, burying his face against Jimmy's shoulder. "I'm in over my head. I thought this was just about a beautiful man. An _exceptionally_ beautiful man, granted, but honestly, I just want to be _with_ him. Not for just a fuck. Not even for a few of them. I'd have him any way I could, for as long as I possibly could. What's happening to me?"

Jimmy felt Castiel's heart racing against him, the confession in his cracking voice showing every ounce of vulnerability that his brother kept hidden from everyone in the world besides him. Cas always was much better at staying unflappable in the face of everything. What insecurities he himself masked with impudence and a cheeky grin, Cas buried so deeply behind a wall of cool dominance that one might never know they existed. He knew, of course. When Cas openly acknowledged his own weakness, however, it was a moment of significance that rattled them both. Considering the reason, Jimmy could do nothing but squeeze Cas more tightly.

"Whatever's happening to you, it's got me, too."

Cas shuddered. "You should have seen him this afternoon, Jimmy, when we were running. Not just the way he looked physically. Not even when he practically stripped in front of me so he could wipe his face with his shirt."

"Oh, Jesus, Cassie..."

"Yes, we can and will discuss his abs later, believe me. But I'm talking about the way he was just shining with joy, so full of energy and spirit...everything I've ever felt about him just slammed into me in one moment, and I _can't do this anymore._ Jimmy, he's not going to say anything. Don't you see? It is so goddamn obvious that he wants to say _something_ , whatever that may be, but he just won't. What am I supposed to do with that?"

"Shhhh, it'll be all right," Jimmy said, brushing the top of Cas's head with his lips. "I mean, it's you and me. When have we ever failed?" Cas whimpered, and Jimmy sighed. "Okay, joking aside. You may be right. He can be as tense as piano wire sometimes. Maybe he's holding back because he's scared? I don't think we've ever given him any indication we'd shoot him down, though. God, I couldn't be more obvious without showing up to workouts naked and prepped, and you're not much more subtle."

"But if we made a direct move…Jimmy, I know you've got feelings for him, too. How are we supposed to handle this? Both come at him at once, tell him what we're feeling, demand that he pick? God, that's shameless, even for us."

Jimmy hummed, smirking slightly. "You want shameless, there's always the third option of _not_ forcing him to pick."

Cas snorted, shoving Jimmy away lightly. "Sure, that would go over well. Thought we agreed he wasn't just a target for sex." His voice wavered slightly, betraying his worry. What if that was all _Dean_ wanted? If that was the only thing on the table, could he turn it down?

"We did." Jimmy didn't blink, and after a moment, Cas tilted his head and gazed thoughtfully into his eyes. "Maybe," Jimmy went on, "the reason why he's being stubborn about not saying anything is that he feels the same way that we do. The way _both_ of us do. For _both_ of us."

"What are the chances?" Cas murmured. Dean wasn't anything like anyone who'd ever propositioned them for threesomes, winking and crudely wondering whether _everything_ about them was identical.

"Of what? That he'd shoot us down? Maybe, and it would hurt, but worse than the waiting?" He shrugged. "That he'd be disgusted, turn and run? Again, possible, but I don't see it. Dean cares deeply, and I doubt he'd cut us out over the question, even if things got awkward. That we're actually reading this right, and he's into at least one of us, and maybe doesn't even know that more would be a possibility?" He paused. "No way to tell, but I think finding out would be worth the chance."

A glimmer of hope crossed Castiel's face, easing a little of the tension around his eyes. "When did you become the mature one?" he said softly, relaxing a fraction. Jimmy pulled him back into his arms, running a hand over his bicep gently.

* * *

Sunday night, Dean rolled his bike up the driveway and into Sam's garage; Sarah had made her lasagna, and the invitation had seemed like the perfect way to end the weekend and the peak of the training cycle. Opening the door to the house for him, Sam didn't bother with words before rolling his eyes and pointing to the shower. Dean showed his teeth in a grimy grin before hauling himself and his gym bag in that direction to clean up.

"Worst part is the bugs," he said a little while later, relishing the cold glass of beer Sarah had handed him. "There is no right time you can go to try and avoid them, not when you're out there that long. Morning's bad, especially when you're the first one on the trail, so you get garotted by the spider webs made between the trees overnight." Sam gagged, making Dean chuckle. "Oh, college boy forgot what it was like to get down and dirty on the trails? Go out there in the afternoon, and, yeah, there might be fewer gnats, but mosquitoes don't care, and it's hot as hell to boot. Evening has even more mosquitoes. I swear, I don't even need protein bars. Just gotta ride with my mouth open and swallow every once in awhile."

"Dean, ew!" Sam flailed at imaginary insects. _Mission accomplished,_ Dean snickered to himself. "If you're trying to keep me from being jealous, that's one way to do it, I guess. I'm still pissed, though. My knee feels better, but the doctor says I still can't go for more than twenty minutes at a stretch, and only on flat paths or a stationary bike."

"Other races, Sammy. You got many years to do it, if you're a good boy now and do everything you're supposed to."

"Oh, shut up, jerk," Sam said.

"Boys," Sarah interrupted. "Why don't we knock this off before it turns into flying food? Meat sauce is a bitch to get out of upholstery." She ladled thick slabs of noodles dripping with sauce and melted cheese onto their plates, successfully turning their attentions away from anything but the delicious smells.

"Now, then," she said as she sat and lifted her own fork. "How about a nice, non-snarky update? Only a couple more weeks until you race, right?"

"Yeah, we fly out the Friday before," Dean nodded. He hated flying, and he especially hated risking his bike to airport baggage handlers, but driving would mean stiff legs when he got there. "No more long workouts at this point. Everything's getting shorter, just letting our bodies recover. Makes me a little nervous. Like, what if my legs lose muscle in the meantime?"

A nagging fear had begun to form in Dean's mind, on top of all the other worries he had. What if he screwed up the race for them? Jimmy and Cas were way more experienced at all this than he was, and the bike was the longest portion of the race. There was no way to fix things if he fucked up. After all his blustering about playing to win, he was terrified of having to face the brothers and admit that he'd lost them their chance.

"It'll be fine, Dean," Sam reassured him. "It's normal. You can't really lose fitness that fast, and you'll be rested and feeling awesome that day if you do what Jimmy and Cas say. It's called 'tapering,' and everybody does it for distance races, even Olympians."

Dean was only a little comforted by that. He couldn't stop seeing their disappointed faces every time he closed his eyes. _"We trusted you, Dean,"_ they'd say, _"and we don't have time for losers."_ Of course they wouldn't.

Sam noticed Dean continuing to fidget and frown over his dinner, though he didn't say anything. After they finished eating, he pulled Dean outside to the back porch, grabbing a couple of bottles of beer on their way. "So," he said, gazing out at the sun setting behind the trees, "when all this is over, you're going to have a bunch of free time cleared up. Bet it'll be good to have a social life again."

"Aw, you missing me?" Dean joked, taking a swallow of his beer.

Sam laughed, shoving into him with his shoulder. "Well, sure. Who else can I boo over bad karaoke like I can you?" Dean shoved back, and they smiled in peaceful quiet for a few minutes.

"What I'm getting at is that you've been really...intense lately," Sam said. "I don't know if it's pressure from the race, or just that you haven't had the chance to blow off steam any other way, but maybe it'll be good to just relax for a while. Maybe find a girl. When's the last time you did?"

"Yeah, okay. Been a while." Dean looked away, frowning. The idea of hooking up with somebody, for the sake of hooking up, felt a little flat to him. He couldn't muster any kind of enthusiasm for it.

Sam nodded in determination. "See? There you go. I know you shut down Sarah's try at matchmaking, but, honestly, we just want to see you happy. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were pining over someone in particular, but you haven't been serious with anybody in ages. Have you?" He eyed Dean thoughtfully. "It's not Jimmy, is it?"

Dean was grateful he'd swallowed his mouthful of beer before Sam had dropped that bomb. "What? Why would...what would make you think…"

"Oh, come on, Dean. It's not like I didn't see the way you guys were looking at each other when I introduced you. The way he got under your skin, then—you don't ever blow up like that at strangers, not unless there's a spark of something. Jimmy and you have a lot in common, too, with the joking and the attitudes. I think he might even be into classic cars."

"No, that's Cas." Jimmy liked modern sports cars, the sleeker the better. The three of them had spent a long evening early on arguing the subject, and Dean might have fallen in love with the way Cas could cut through almost any argument with a few well-chosen words and piercing looks.

"Ah." Sam paused. "You're into Cas, then?"

"Sam! I'm not gay!" Dean was flushed, trying not to stammer. "Weren't you just trying to get me to hook up with a chick? Weren't you trying to set me up with Sarah's friend?"

Sam turned to face him fully then, eyes widened. "Wait, hang on. Dean, you know that I know, right? I mean, I get that we never had any actual chick-flick moment talks about it, but you've been out of the bisexual closet for, like, as long as I can remember. Was I not supposed to know or something?"

"I'm...I just...Sam, we…" Dean honestly had no idea how to put words into sentences that would convey how lost he was about how to handle this moment. He took a deep breath. "I'm not ashamed. It's not that."

"Did you think I wouldn't accept it?" A hurt look appeared in Sam's eyes. "Did you think I wouldn't accept _you?_ Dean, if I ever said anything that made you think that, I'm sorry. The only reason I suggested finding a girl is that I was mostly joking. I know you said before that you weren't looking for a relationship, and you only seem to really joke about hooking up with chicks, not guys. I didn't know if you were sensitive about that, but it was dumb of me."

"Not dumb," Dean mumbled. "Just...didn't know how to say it. I don't think I ever really 'came out' to anybody, actually. I just never pretended to be anything else. Except with Dad. And, well, you, I guess, after a while. You never said anything, and the longer it went…"

"I get it," Sam acknowledged, saving Dean from having to explain any further. "Well, I'll just say now what I thought you always knew. It doesn't change anything about how I feel about you. Whether you're with a man or a woman or somebody who doesn't identify as either, I just want you to be _happy._ Okay?"

Dean tried to smile, feeling it quiver a little. "Okay."

"Good. Glad that's settled." A minute passed, then Sam asked, "So, is it Jimmy or Cas?"

Dean barked a laugh, caught off-guard again. "God, Sam."

"What, is it both? Greedy much?" He snorted a laugh, obviously teasing.

Unable to handle much more emotionally charged discussion, Dean fell back into his familiar defense strategies. "Well, you couldn't expect me to keep all this exclusive," he joked, waving his hands up and down his body. "That's selfish, Sam, not greedy."

He should have known better than to try to deflect so soon after being vulnerable. It wouldn't have convinced anyone, let alone his baby brother. "Oh, my God, it actually is both. Dean…"

Dean sighed, feeling deflated. "Betcha thought I couldn't shock you. Betcha thought being all accepting of your bisexual brother was the biggest leap you were going to have to make tonight, in terms of this crap. No, apparently I'm also a great big old bisexual telenovela." He turned from the porch rail, dropping into a wooden deck chair and putting his empty bottle on the ground so he could cover his face with his hands.

He heard the creak of the chair next to him as Sam sat down as well. "Dean, the only thing I'm judging right now is how miserable you look. That's not just about me finding out you're bi; you've looked keyed up for weeks. Honestly, I lived in the Castro, back when I did that summer internship before my senior year. You wouldn't believe the things that were totally normal to me by the end. Your soap opera life wouldn't be a blip on the radar of 'weird.'" Dean made a disgruntled noise, not sure whether he should be offended or not. "Anyway, dating guys, dating _two_ guys, dating guys who are _related_...in an ideal, nonjudgmental world, none of that would be need to be weird at all, if that was something that worked for everybody involved. Whatever you're _actually_ doing, though...is it? Uh, working, I mean?"

Dean lowered one hand, staring at Sam, who was obviously treading cautiously. "Okay, a lot to unpack here. We'll come back to your freaky summer of love later, because now I'm thinking I never got the full picture of your college experience, dude. To answer your question, first, nothing's working—not with one guy, let alone with two—because I haven't said anything. To anyone."

"So you're crushing on both of them, and they don't even know? Dean, I'll admit that I was mostly watching you and Jimmy that night, but I can definitely tell you that he, at least, was eyeing you. And as good as your poker face may be when you're actually playing cards, you've always worn your heart on your sleeve when it comes to feelings. Why do you think you never needed to come out to anybody?" Sam shook his head in frustration.

"Well, neither of them have said anything, either." Dean wished his bottle wasn't empty; this was more honesty than he'd stomached in years.

"Maybe because you're giving off waves of confusion visible to the naked eye? Okay, look. I'll approach this like a logic puzzle. You like Castiel and Jimmy. I believe that Jimmy likes you, too. Going out on a limb, based on what I know about Cas and what I know about you, I could definitely believe that Cas could also be into you. But they're brothers, and really close even for that. Makes sense that they'd play it safe and wait for you to be more obvious about who you'd rather be with." Sam shrugged, huffing a quick laugh. "Not that I want to inflate your ego or anything, but it's possible that if you're just clear about what you want, and you don't make it weird, things could work out for you and...whoever."

"Whoever." Dean echoed. He rubbed his temple. "Of course, being clear about what I want means actually knowing what I want, or who. They're both so…"

"Yeah," Sam said sympathetically. "But you do need to think hard about it. Jimmy and Castiel might be twins, but they're separate individuals. Just decide who you really want, then focus on being a good friend to the other guy. You're all adults, so it shouldn't be too difficult." They sat quietly a bit longer, thoughts spinning through Dean's head too fast to handle. After a bit, Sam broke the silence. "And, hey, at least once the race is over, you won't actually have to see them again. There's a built-in out."

The thought made Dean even more agitated than he had been before. In two weeks, the twins could be entirely done with him. He either needed to wait it out, hoping that after it was all over he could find some sort of friendship with the twins with more limited contact, or else he needed to come to some sort of decision and make a move.

It was definitely a good thing Cas had been so emphatic about hydration, Dean thought, getting up for a glass of water instead of the hard liquor he really wanted.


	7. Go For the Burn

**T-minus 2 weeks: Taper**

"Tapering off before a race is hell on the mind, but it's the physical part that always gets me," grumbled Jimmy. He and Dean had met up at the gym again after Dean's ride, Jimmy just having driven back from his swim at Lone Star Lake. "I mean, all those lovely endorphins you get from the long, hard workouts—pfft, gone. None of those anymore! You can keep up all the intensity you want, but keep cutting back on the time, and sooner or later you're just _jonesing_ for a hit." He bounced up and down on the balls of his feet as they walked down the hallway toward an empty studio.

Dean was feeling the restlessness, too. His muscles might have been healing, but they were almost humming with extra energy now that he was no longer pushing himself so much. He thought that if he looked closely enough, he might actually be able to see his quadriceps vibrating.

"Here we go," Jimmy said, unlocking the door and letting them in. The room was small, the walls lined with foam objects in various shapes. Dean crossed to a pile of what looked like bright orange logs, running a hand over the rough surface of the top one. "One thing that sort of takes the edge off is doing some extra stretching. Makes you feel like you're doing something productive, anyway. Those right there are foam rollers, and they positively define the concept of 'sweet pain.' Here, let me show you."

In short order, Dean found himself positioned on his side, holding himself up on one elbow, with his hip balanced across a roller. He raised an eyebrow at Jimmy, who was grinning mischievously. "Okay, it's awkward, I'll give you, but it doesn't hurt. What do I do?"

"Just sort of pull yourself forward with your arm, and let the roller roll down toward your knee. You'll know it when you feel it."

It was weird, and Dean was sure he was doing it wrong, but he slowly dragged himself along the floor. Just before the roller reached his knee, he suddenly felt a shooting pain lance up along his leg. "Jesus fuck! What the hell!"

Jimmy was cackling. "Got a little knot in your IT band, there, Dean? Just stay still until it stops hurting." After a few seconds, the pain disappeared; Dean glared when Jimmy told him to do it again. "When Cas got ITBS training for a half-marathon once, he did ten minutes per leg, four times a day. That's mostly a runner thing, though."

By the time Dean was standing again, he had to admit that his legs felt much more loose. "Like discount Swedish massage," he quipped. "More a fan of the kind that comes with a happy ending, but not bad." Dean's cheeks got a little warm when he made the joke, but he forced himself to watch for Jimmy's reaction. Part of him refused to believe that Sam was right, that Jimmy really was doing anything more than teasing, but he needed to see for himself.

Instead of simply smirking and rolling his eyes or making a joke of his own, Jimmy tilted his head a fraction, tapping a finger to his chin thoughtfully. Just as Dean felt the beginnings of panic rise in his chest, Jimmy said, "You know, now that you mention it, your back looks a little tight, too."

As he walked away to grab a much thicker, barrel-shaped object covered in blue vinyl, Dean watched him, feeling confused and frustrated. It wasn't a blow-off; Jimmy hadn't made any wisecracks about hot masseurs, and he hadn't gone the other direction, razzing Dean about being a perv (which would have been unlikely, given the sort of jokes Jimmy and Cas were prone to make, but Dean had prepared for anything). Dean might have thought there had been no reaction at all, but the tiniest of twitches beside Jimmy's lips had him on edge...waiting.

"Here, lean back over this," Jimmy said, holding the roller still as Dean pushed his torso back and up over it. He immediately felt the stretch across his chest as his shoulders pulled back. Jimmy rolled the barrel slightly away from him, letting Dean's head dangle over the other side, until it fit the curve of his back.

The stretch felt awesome, and Dean grunted a little as his lower back released its tension against the pressure of the firm foam. As with the foam roller before, he stayed in place, waiting for the knots to fully disappear, but as he waited, he started to feel a little awkward. Jimmy was hovering close beside him, eyes trained on his face. Meanwhile, Dean's entire body was flexed backward, close enough that he could feel the heat of Jimmy's body along his side. Dean peered upward from where he hung; even from his upside-down vantage, the intensity with which Jimmy's blue eyes seemed to pierce right through him made the breath catch in Dean's throat.

To his horror, Dean realized that his current position made it impossible to hide the very obvious physical effect Jimmy was having on him. His bike shorts, snug around his hips and thighs, were nowhere near padded enough in the front to disguise the way his cock was hardening, stretching the spandex obscenely. Part of Dean's brain screamed at him: _Make a joke about it! Play it off like it's no big deal, just a natural reaction!_ His lips refused to cooperate, and his cheeks flushed as their eyes remained locked.

"Dean," Jimmy murmured, sounding more uncertain than Dean had ever heard him. Neither of them blinked, and Dean caught himself nervously moistening lips that had suddenly gone dry. With agonizing slowness, Jimmy rolled the barrel in the other direction until Dean was seated on the floor once more, never breaking the gaze. Then, cautious as though sudden movements would send him running, Jimmy moved to kneel next to Dean and placed a hand on the juncture between his neck and shoulder. Unable to think, afraid to make a sound, Dean sat frozen as Jimmy lowered his face, only closing his eyes in the breath before their lips finally met.

For a moment, there was complete stillness. Then, with a flood of warmth through his chest as though his heart was trying to compensate for having ceased to beat, Dean gasped into the kiss and lunged forward, fisting his hands tightly into Jimmy's tee-shirt. The hesitancy evaporated in an instant; Jimmy was grabbing Dean's shoulders, fingers gripping hard, then sliding back around to his shoulder blades and pulling him forward.

Unfrozen, neither of them could seem to stop moving. Dean felt as though his entire existence had narrowed to center upon the places where he was touching Jimmy, moving against him. The scent of lake water clinging to his skin filled Dean's nose and throat; one of his hands slipped upward to stroke through the still-damp curls at the back of Jimmy's neck, eliciting a hoarse groan. Dean swallowed the sound, deepening the kiss and feeling the rumble against his chest.

Jimmy was frantic, lips moving under Dean's with a feeling of desperation. When the need for air finally became too great to ignore, he broke away with a gasp, then threw himself back again, mouthing at Dean's jaw with lips and tongue. His hands stroked constantly up and down over Dean's back, finally discovering the narrow strip of skin at his waist that his groping had managed to bare. The feel of fingers on flesh was like a lightning shock through Dean, and he needed _more._

With Jimmy's mouth licking and nipping down the side of his neck, Dean yanked frantically at the hem of Jimmy's shirt, pulling it up in the back as far as he could before he needed to pull away in order to remove it the rest of the way. Those few seconds apart were too long; he _needed_ his hands on the other man's bare skin. Dean ran his palms over Jimmy's chest, stroking down over his ribs as his mouth chased them downward. When his lips closed over a nipple and sucked hard, the soft cry he earned was nearly a whine.

His mind was a whirlwind of incoherency, flashes of _yes_ and _please_ and _finally_ dancing wildly as logic and reasoning fell away. Palms gripped his ass, squeezing hard, and Dean shuddered hard. He wanted...he _needed…_

"Oh, God, Dean!" Jimmy hissed. The wrecked voice in Dean's ear broke through the haze clouding his mind. Suddenly all of his doubts came slamming back in an instant. _What am I doing?_ Panicked, he wrenched himself away from Jimmy, who stared at him, stunned; his mouth hung slightly open, lips swollen and shining wetly, and his hands hung suspended in the empty air between them.

"I...I've gotta…" Dean lurched up from the floor on clumsy legs and fled.

* * *

 _He kissed me.  
He wants me.  
I want him. I _like _him.  
I could be with him, choose him. Not choose Cas.  
Why does that hurt so bad?  
Jimmy doesn't know. If he knew, he'd be disgusted. He'd hate me.  
How can I be with somebody when every time I look at him, I see the guy I couldn't have?_

Dean stood in the locker room, leaning over the sink with cold water dripping from his face. Trying to cool himself off wasn't working; his body was on fire from Jimmy's caresses. He knew he needed to go talk to him, but he had no idea what he was going to say, and he knew that until he could get himself physically under control, he didn't have a prayer of fixing anything.

If anything could be fixed.

"Damn it!" he shouted, slamming an open palm into the towel dispenser. It clanged loudly, echoing through the locker room. His hand stung. _Good._ He chased the pain, slapping both hands hard against the steel sink counter this time. The sound was more dull this time, but the impact jolted up the length his arms, making him grunt.

Raising his head to glare into the mirror, he caught movement behind him. Paused in the doorway, Jimmy stood silently, watching him with a pale, stricken expression. When their eyes met in the glass, Jimmy opened his mouth to speak.

"Wait," Dean blurted, raising a forestalling hand. He didn't turn around; he didn't think he could handle this face to face. "I need to get this out, and...and I need you to just let me, okay? Just...just stay there. Please."

Jimmy closed his mouth. He nodded slowly, eyes wide and full of anxious concern that felt like a punch to Dean's gut. _He's worried about me. He cares, and now I've ruined that._

"I'm sorry," he said, forcing the words out, dropping his head forward. "I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have run out. That was...shouldn't have done that to you. I…" Dean made himself lift his chin, locking eyes in the mirror again. "Jimmy, I think I'm falling for you."

Jimmy gasped, a barely audible noise, and his hands jerked, making an abortive motion as though to reach for Dean from across the room. Dean closed his eyes, flinching slightly.

"Don't worry, I know we haven't known each other all that long and that it's ridiculous. The kiss, the...the rest of it, I know it probably was just a heat of the moment type thing for you, and that's fine, it's okay, I just thought you should probably...well, I should probably tell you that it's not just that for me. But you don't need to worry about that. I'll be fine."

He heard Jimmy take a step toward him and stop, and he was grateful that he wasn't stopping him from talking, because the hard part was still coming, and the only thing he could imagine that would make it worse was being interrupted at this point.

"Because here's the thing, and I'll just spit it out, and you can hit me or whatever you want, and I'll still ride on your team and do the race, because I definitely owe you that. Just don't...don't hurt the legs, okay?" He laughed shakily, voice cracking. "See, I had to stop you from kissing me, because...because I'm an asshole, and I'm not just falling for _you,_ I had to go and fall for your brother, too." The last words were a struggle, and they came out so quietly Dean wasn't sure if they were audible. He ran a hand over his face and took a deep breath. "I'm falling in love with both Castiel and you." With his last threads of bravery and determination, he opened his eyes to face the inevitable fallout.

Jimmy's jaw muscles were clenched, his nostrils flared, and his eyes were burning with intensity. His chest was rising and falling visibly as he drew rapid breaths, and when he started across the room toward Dean with a look of utter determination, Dean knew he was about to be punched. He had expected it. Even so, he couldn't keep his shoulders from slumping the tiniest fraction in rejection. Of course it would go this way. He should never have allowed himself to—

Heated palms gripped Dean's forearms fiercely, spinning him around and dragging him forcefully against the muscular planes of Jimmy's bare chest. Lips smashed into his almost violently, bruising as they laid undeniable claim to Dean's. He was more than stunned; compared to the way time had slowed in the moments leading to the first kiss, this one exploded upon him so unexpectedly that he had no chance to do anything but react instinctively.

Jimmy's mouth demanded, tongue licking and pressing, and Dean responded without hesitation, whimpering as the kiss deepened. The hands holding him in place relaxed slightly when it became clear that Dean would not protest, and he could feel the thumbs trace tiny circles on the front of his biceps. That almost imperceptible show of tenderness caused something brittle and cold to shatter in Dean's heart, and the last lingering doubts were gone. His brain came back online, and he knew with full clarity that he couldn't deny this for one more moment.

His hands—he had hands! Where had they been?—rose to cradle Jimmy's face, the tips of his fingers stroking the delicate skin behind his ears. As his need and his confidence rose, he nudged with his hips, gently turning the two of them around so that he could press Jimmy against the counter. Half-formed thoughts drifted through Dean's head: lifting him up to sit on the edge, having those legs over his shoulders, getting his mouth on him.

A hand squirmed between them and gripped Dean's balls through his shorts, squeezing gently, and his eyes flew open as he groaned. He couldn't help pausing to take in the amazing view; Jimmy's back, reflected in the mirror, was almost unfairly beautiful, with perfectly sculpted muscles, tanned skin flushed pink with warmth, and the hottest tattoo of a man wearing winged sandals sprinting along his shoulder blade…

For the second time that day, panic overwhelmed Dean completely. This time, however, the man in his arms sensed the moment when Dean's muscles stiffened, and he was immediately gripped firmly by the shoulders. "Ah," he said, finally speaking for the first time since walking into the locker room. His voice was even rougher than its usual growl, definitely affected by his own desire, but it still carried the quiet authority Dean was used to hearing. "Getting caught up with things? Was it the running shorts?"

Dean hadn't even noticed that the bare-chested man who'd found him had been in completely different shorts. Cas was still in his running shoes, too, obviously coming in to shower off the sweat and mud from the trail. He felt like an idiot. "Tattoo," he whispered.

"Hmm, yes," Castiel said. "There would be that. A little less flamboyant than Jimmy's ink, but I got mine before he got his, so I suppose he felt he had to show me up." He was running soothing hands over Dean's upper arms now, slowly, as if he still expected him to break away and flee. "Breathe," he murmured, and Dean realized he wasn't.

"I thought you were…"

"Yes, I know. I would have said something the moment I realized, but you were adamant that I keep still, and then...then you were saying what you said, and I _couldn't._ " His hands squeezed again for a brief moment, apparently involuntarily, as a shudder passed through him and he drew a ragged breath.

Full of apprehension, Dean still couldn't seem to make his lungs expand fully. Cas was holding him; Cas wasn't hitting him, shouting at him, or storming out of the room and out of his life. It didn't make sense, and having gone through too many mindfucks already today, he needed to be sure, even if being sure meant hearing things he didn't want to hear. "You're not pissed at me. You don't hate me?"

Cas tilted his head to the side quizzically, brow furrowed in earnest concern. "Why would I hate you, Dean?"

"Because I…" He didn't want to say it again; he didn't think he could survive having Cas pull away now. Head lowered, eyes on the floor, he said softly, "I just admitted I loved you both. Jimmy kissed me, and _you_ kissed me, and I really don't want to come between you guys or hurt anybody, and at least when I was being a coward about it, the only one I was hurting was me. Now it's a big mess, and…" _And I'm not worth that._ He trailed off, throat closing painfully, unable to say anything else.

Cas was peering at him thoughtfully. A few tense seconds passed as he studied Dean without speaking. Finally, he said, "You're worried that because you want us both, and you can't decide which one of us you'd rather be with more, there are going to be problems. If you and Jimmy were together, I'd be hurt, and if you were with me, it would break Jimmy." Dean nodded once, head still ducked. "And you? What about your feelings, if you had to choose which of us to leave behind?"

Dean's chin jerked up, pain gripping his chest as he imagined again what he'd been unable to bring himself to face for weeks. Cas held his gaze intently, but even as he opened his mouth to respond, he had no reply. After a moment, Cas nodded, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

"All right," Cas said. "Now it's my turn to talk, and all I want is for you to answer with 'yes' or 'no' when I ask. Okay?" Dean nodded, and Cas huffed a laugh. "Good enough. Okay. First, and no reply is necessary for this, I want to reassure you and make it absolutely clear that even though you were the one with the courage to say it out loud first, you're not the only one falling. What you said before, about this being only about sex and snap decisions? For my part, as well as for Jimmy, I can reassure you that nothing could be more wrong. And yes, I can speak for my brother, because, well…" Cas paused, biting his lip.

"You talked about me?" Dean didn't mean to interject, and Cas narrowed his eyes slightly but didn't look upset.

"You've been a subject of discussion between us, yes. And before you start getting nervous, it was entirely positive. Of course we've discussed you. How could we not?" Cas lifted a hand to cup Dean's chin, maintaining steady eye contact. "You are the most beautiful man either of us has had the privilege to meet, and since we've come to know you, it's grown clear that your beauty is so much more than what's visible to the eye."

Dean blinked, shuttering his eyes against the intensity of the connection; Cas made a tiny noise of frustration when he did, but his thumb simply stroked Dean's cheekbone without demand.

"Jimmy knows I want you—that I more than want you. When I heard you say that you're falling in love with me, it made me realize just how much I'm falling for you, too. Do you understand?"

Dean nodded, eyes still closed. Cas leaned in and brushed a gentle kiss across his lips, and Dean leaned into the cradle of his hand when he pulled away.

"I haven't spoken to Jimmy all day, but from what I can gather, he kissed you, and it doesn't sound as though you two spoke at all about it before or after. Let me speak for him then; Jimmy loves you, just as much as I do. Do you understand that?" Trembling, unsure, Dean nodded again. "Since he wasn't the one to say it, I'll just take his kiss on his behalf now, and he can reclaim it later," Cas murmured playfully, caressing his lips with another light kiss.

"Now for the slightly more complicated part." Dean flinched, and Cas was quick to pull him closer, hushing him and running fingers through the hair on the back of his head. "No, it's nothing to worry about. I only mean that, really, what we've covered so far wasn't really all that hard to see. Really, Dean, I don't think I've ever seen Jimmy work so hard in his life to get somebody's attention." The teasing made Dean relax a hair, and he snorted and shook his head, though he still kept quiet.

Cas kept steadily stroking through Dean's hair as he stood for a moment, lost in thought. "Okay," he finally said. "So I already told you that we confessed our feelings about you to each other before coming to you. You told me that you were afraid of coming between us. Tell me, does it sound as though I am in any way upset with Jimmy for how he feels?"

"No, but—"

"Shhhhh. I am not. I can further add that he isn't upset with me, either." Dean frowned, wanting to interrupt and say that it was easy not to be upset over hypotheticals, but a lot harder when the jackass in the middle went and complicated things by refusing to make a choice. He kept his lips shut and nodded, and Cas rewarded him with a third soft kiss.

"I need to tell you something, Dean," he whispered, sounding nervous for the first time since he'd opened his mouth to speak. "There's a reason why neither of us were jealous or upset, and it's not just because, frankly, we are awesome at being brothers. I love my brother, Dean. Do you understand?"

Impatient to hear the reason, Dean nodded.

"No. Dean. Look at me."

Dean lifted his eyes and met Cas's suddenly extremely serious eyes. Something significant hung in the air between them as he waited. Fingers stilled on Dean's neck, Cas repeated his words: "I _love_ my brother. As he loves me."

Realization burst upon Dean and was immediately met with denial. _He can't mean what I'm hearing. No way._ He had no idea how to react, what to say that wouldn't either offend or frustrate, so he stayed still. The moment lengthened into something unbearable. Finally, Cas broke first.

"God, Dean. In the Biblical sense." He let go, turned his back, and ran both hands through his hair, shaking. When Dean still found himself frozen, stunned into utter silence, Cas added in a small voice, "Now it's your turn to hit me, or leave in disgust."

"Why?" Dean hated seeing Cas, always so confident and composed, reduced to this. He hated the part his confusion had played in causing it. "Why would I do that?"

"Because we're _brothers,_ " Cas said, voice ragged.

"Yeah, I caught the family resemblance," Dean said. "Kinda hard to miss."

Cas shuddered, still looking away. "Don't tease."

"I'm sorry." His brain was still spinning, but a single theme was rising from the chaos. _They love me. They love each other. Nobody has to choose. Nobody has to be left behind._ It was too much, far more than he ever deserved, but, damn it, it was here in front of him, and all he had to do was reach out.

He stepped back toward Cas, lifting his arms to embrace him from behind. Cas trembled, but he leaned back against Dean's chest, sighing. "Not going anywhere," he said, kissing the back of his head. "Never."

"Dean." It was barely audible, more of a gasp than a word.

"Now c'mon," he said. "I sort of left your brother in the lurch, and I think it's time we brought him into the loop. He wouldn't have left, would he?"

"I have the car keys," Cas said with a shaky, watery laugh. "He's here in the building somewhere, and we'll find him."


	8. Just Tri to Keep Up

Castiel knew his brother like the back of his own hand, perhaps because their hands were identical. That made no sense, he realized, but he didn't have time to think of a better metaphor, because Dean wanted him. Dean wanted _them._ Logic no longer had any relevance.

The point was that he knew where Jimmy would go, in a state of high emotion and trapped alone with his own thoughts.

They could hear the loud thuds of something heavy slamming into a wall from halfway down the hall, as they strode toward the bodyweight room. Cas threw open the door just as the largest medicine ball flew into the wall opposite him with a deafening crash. It bounced hard off the floor, ricocheting back into Jimmy's arms, and he dropped to a squat in preparation to throw it again. His entire body dripped with sweat, and his tensed back muscles rippled.

"Jimmy!" Castiel's barked exclamation had his brother jumping and stumbling backward as his interrupted throw went wild. The ball flew to the side, and Jimmy spun, trying to catch his balance. When he saw Dean standing with Cas, his already distraught face grew even more red.

"Dean," he choked. "You're still here. I am _so sorry,_ I can't even begin...please, just—"

"Jimmy, stop." On another occasion, in another universe, Cas might have allowed his brother to babble through his apologies to Dean. He probably needed to apologize, or at least address the fact that he hadn't made anything clear at all before just jumping straight into a heavy makeout session, which had obviously been a bad choice. It had somehow, by the grace of whatever deity was in charge of monitoring fitness clubs today, worked out for the best, though, so Cas was inclined to skip ahead through the repetition of emotional expressions that had already been resolved.

Dean was apparently on the same page. "It's good, Jimmy," he said. The tiny, nearly disbelieving smile he'd worn since leaving the locker room was still there, as though he wasn't sure any of this was real. Cas couldn't _wait_ to show him how real it all was. They needed to get out of here fast.

Jimmy still looked destroyed. "No, I should have...you just looked so _amazing,_ and...but you obviously didn't want that, and I pushed, and—"

"I _did_ want it, Jimmy, I just didn't know what—"

"Dean, I'll totally get it if you never—"

 _SLAM_. The medicine ball hit the wood floor with a deafening noise that made both Jimmy and Dean whirl in alarm. Cas didn't bother catching the ball, letting it roll away as he faced the other two men with a look of barely controlled fire. "Jimmy, I said _stop,_ " he said firmly. "This has already been a long afternoon for all of us, and while I recognize that there is still much to be discussed, I would prefer, for _once in my life,_ to spoil the ending." He must have looked more terrifying than he had imagined, because both Jimmy and Dean quickly nodded, wide-eyed. Good.

"Dean knows," he bluntly informed his brother. When Jimmy raised an eyebrow in question, wondering which of the many things Dean might know had been revealed, Cas clarified, "About us. And our feelings, toward him and...each other."

Jimmy blanched, now looking wild with panic. He opened his mouth helplessly, not having expected such a bombshell, all at once. Cas regretted having dropped it on him like that, but he had had enough of being patient. "Dean, tell him what you told me. Please."

Dean exhaled on a huff, still smiling and appearing stunned. "Told him I loved you. And him, too. And...and that I wanted to be with you both."

Nobody moved for a long moment. Just as Cas was beginning to wonder whether they'd truly broken Jimmy, he let out a soft groan and sank to the floor on his knees, every muscle sagging.

Dean swiftly crossed to him, kneeling next to him. "Jimmy, hey! Hey, don't die on me now, man." He slipped an arm around his shoulders, and Jimmy sank into the support.

"Not gonna die," he muttered. "That'd be a _terrible_ ending. Like a really cheesy tragic romance."

"In a gym, no less," Cas observed. "Heavy on the tragedy, and without anywhere near enough romance yet. With that in mind, can I please suggest that we get the hell out of here? I don't intend on wasting any more time than we already have, and certain details must be addressed. For one, showers; I'm still covered in dried sweat, and, Jimmy, you probably smell like something from the bottom of the lake. We could all shower here, but I have _no_ confidence that we'd manage that without the gym revoking our memberships."

"Probably a safe bet," Dean agreed. "Okay. My house? I redid the bathroom last year, and the shower is, um, big. Not that I'm saying we have to, you know, do anything, but…" He was bright red, and Jimmy was recovering quickly, grinning widely.

"We'll follow you," Cas said, unable to suppress his own grin.

* * *

Jimmy felt like he was on the wildest roller coaster ride of his life. One minute, he'd been having a pleasant (as always) afternoon with Dean, and in the next, he was soaring high as he _finally_ had him in his arms, hot and eager and unimaginably sexy. Then he'd crashed down to earth, horrified to see Dean panic and run. Jimmy was convinced he'd destroyed everything, hurt Dean deeply, and was going to have to tell Cas that any hopes they'd had were gone, just because he couldn't control himself.

But now...now Cas was driving like he'd never even heard of a speed limit (or a yellow light; Jesus, he wasn't going to survive long enough to resolve anything), and while he drove, he was filling Jimmy in on everything that happened between Dean running away and his return, which was apparently a lot. He did not envy Cas for having to do all the talking, including actually biting the bullet and telling Dean that the two of them were involved with each other, but he was extremely relieved that it was done and that at least one of them had the stones to do it.

And Dean—extraordinary, _perfect_ Dean—just accepted them. More than that, he still wanted them. Even better, he wanted them _both,_ and he wanted them together, and…

They really needed to drive faster. He had no idea exactly how this was going to work or what was going to happen when they got to Dean's house, but he would be damn grateful for anything. They could just drink beer and cuddle up on the couch, and he'd be satisfied. Okay, that wasn't entirely true. He wanted his hands back on that man, as soon as possible. He wanted...oh, he wanted.

Dean's car was already parked in the driveway when they got there, a testament to how Castiel wasn't the only menace on the road that day. Jimmy and Cas jumped out as soon as the engine died, grabbing their gym bags and striding toward the door. Dean had left it ajar, and they entered without formalities that were completely unnecessary any more.

He must have only gotten there a few minutes before they had, because the lights weren't on yet. As Jimmy's eyes adjusted to the relative dimness, he saw Dean standing on the far side of the room, waiting. He looked...well, he looked gorgeous, as he always did, but he also looked slightly freaked. His eyes were wide, his smile a little forced, and his hands were playing with the hem of his shirt as if he didn't know what to do with them.

 _Now what?_ Jimmy wasn't sure what...oh. He turned to look at his twin and saw what Dean saw, which was Cas looking as though he wanted to devour Dean. Come to that, he was probably wearing the same look himself, and if twin versions of _that_ were what had come through his door, he couldn't blame Dean for feeling a bit anxious. He firmly suppressed his grin and leaned over to mutter to Cas, "Hey, maybe tone it down just a little, yeah?" Without waiting, then, Jimmy turned back to Dean and forced himself to at least appear relaxed.

"That beast of a car must have some teeth," he said, dropping his bag casually and making his way to Dean's side of the room. "I still say it's more boat than automobile, but I can see its merits."

Dean loosened up a little, on familiar ground. "Baby knows how to move. Can't trust a car you don't know, and I know her inside and out."

"You take care of her, she takes care of you," Jimmy said, nodding and smiling. He was close enough to touch Dean now, and he deliberately held back. He thought he had an idea about the root of some of the tension. As selfless as they knew him to be, there was a definite possibility that he was standing there worrying about how he could take care of the both of them, and, well, Jimmy could see how that might seem intimidating to a perfectionist like Dean. Well, he didn't plan to let Dean put himself last this time.

Casting a critical eye across Dean's shoulders, he pursed his lips a little. "You know," he said, "you ran out of the studio before we finished stretching. I mean, I know _why,_ but you still look like you need it. Here." He lifted a hand, trying to look innocent, and gripped the muscle between Dean's neck and shoulder, which was indeed knotted and tight. The involuntary groan made him smirk. "See? So let's fix that."

Moving behind Dean without letting go, Jimmy squeezed hard and began to massage. Using both hands, he worked the muscle, pleased when Dean loosened a little more and rolled his head back, groaning even more deeply. Looking across the room, Jimmy grinned to see how the sounds were affecting Cas, who seemed to be exercising enormous restraint. His eyes were dark with desire, and he bit his lip.

"You know, Cas is better at this than I am," he said. "At least, I assume. I've experienced his massages, and I only have hearsay to go on for my own. Might be good to have an impartial judge. What do you think?"

"Definitely useful," Cas agreed, his own attempt at appearing casual spoiled a bit by how he practically growled the words. He crossed to join them, studying them speculatively. Dean lifted his head to watch; Jimmy couldn't see his eyes, but smile that appeared on his brother's lips said that his efforts to relax Dean were working. "Tell me what you need, Dean. Tell me what other muscles have been feeling tension."

Dean swallowed. "Legs," he said softly, and Cas made an approving noise.

"Of course. You're a cyclist." He stepped closer and brushed his palms against the fronts of Dean's thighs. "Let's see what I can do." Cas dropped to his knees, stroking firmly upward with the heels of his hands. At the top of the stroke, he let his thumbs skate sideways over the crease of Dean's hips, visible through the tight cycling shorts. The effect was immediate and pronounced, and Jimmy shuddered as Dean's hips rocked backward and pressed into his groin.

Cas ran his hands back down again, slipping his fingers beneath the bottom hems and teasing a little, chuckling. "If you can't hold still, the massage will be less effective." He repeated the upward motion, this time letting the sweep of his thumbs continue all the way around the hips so he could grab hold of Dean's ass. Dean hissed, but he tried desperately to stay in place. "So good," Cas murmured, sliding his hands slowly down the backs of his thighs.

While Cas continued to navigate Dean's lower body with deliberate slowness, letting his thumbs and fingertips venture closer and closer to where they were most wanted, Jimmy slipped his hands under the fabric of Dean's t-shirt, still kneading at the shoulder muscles that were no longer stiff. He leaned forward, nuzzling against the back of Dean's neck. The salt from earlier perspiration was slightly gritty under his lips. Dean whimpered, and Jimmy reached for the hem of the shirt to pull upward.

"Shower?" he prompted, pulling Dean firmly against himself so he could wrap his arms completely around him. Dean seemed to be caught in a meditative state, somewhere between a boneless daze and simmering arousal, but when Jimmy's cock pressed hard between his cheeks, he swiftly tipped over the edge into urgent need.

"Please," he croaked, and Cas reached for his hands and stood. Jimmy's arms clasped solidly around Dean's waist, grounding but not restraining, as Cas cupped Dean's chin. The look of adoration and passion Jimmy saw on his twin's face sent a jolt straight down his spine, and he shivered. Then Cas leaned forward to press his lips against Dean's, and Jimmy couldn't hold back his whimper.

Dean broke the kiss to turn his head and look back over his shoulder. "You okay?" he said, sounding slightly nervous again.

"Believe me, I am _so_ okay. I am so far beyond okay that I can't even remember when I passed it. Now shut up and kiss my brother again, _please_." He was babbling, but he couldn't help it. Dean snorted, but he turned back to Cas for another kiss.

"I think we need to get Jimmy into the shower before his brain overheats," Dean said when he and Cas separated a second time. He was laughing, euphoric, and both brothers grinned back at him and each other, loving the sound. Finally free from the initial unease, the short trip down the hall to the master bathroom was a clumsy group stumble, hands and mouths unwilling to wait.

"Hang on," Dean said as he leaned into the shower stall to turn on the water; Cas rumbled impatiently, leaning into Dean's back and mouthing at the bumps of his spine. Jimmy made a grab for Cas's shorts, pulling them from his hips in one yank, and they puddled on the floor and caught on his running shoes, costing him his balance. Dean turned and laughed, dropping to his knees to free Cas's feet; looking up, he saw Jimmy and Cas frantically kissing each other, deep and desperate. He groaned, overwhelmed, and blindly mouthed at the inside of Castiel's thigh.

"In, now," Jimmy panted, flailing an arm at the shower door. The rest of their clothing was shed without fanfare; Dean's compression shorts were a team effort, with him perched on the sink counter as the twins peeled them from his skin. He stood then and pulled the two of them by the shoulders, drawing them all into the cloud of steam now filling the large stall. Neither of the twins had taken the time even to glance at the bathroom as they entered, but as they momentarily paused to breathe in the warm, moist air, Jimmy decided that he could happily live in this shower for the rest of his life. It was tiled in rich cream and sand colors, had a good-sized bench along one side, and boasted shower heads on both ends, now offering some of the best water pressure he'd ever experienced.

It was, of course, difficult to fully appreciate those features with Dean swallowing his cock down to the root, but he certainly did try.

Jimmy threw his head back, remembering at the last moment that tile would be a painfully hard surface against one's skull. "Dean, oh, shit!" Collapsing against the wall as Dean swallowed hard around him, then began to bob along his shaft, he struggled not to come immediately, but it was a narrow escape, only prevented by Castiel's rescue. When Cas pulled Dean back and off him, he wasn't sure whether he wanted to thank or curse his brother.

"Need to slow down," Cas said, endeavoring valiantly to regain control of a situation escalating too quickly. Dean protested wordlessly, and Cas drew him upward, dragging his hot flesh along his own. "You'd like Jimmy to come down your throat, wouldn't you?" he said, voice low. "He wants that, too, and you'll have it. But we have all night, and I plan to take you apart so thoroughly that you're seeing _four_ of us, not two, and have you screaming our names until you're hoarse, and I want Jimmy to help. It would be a shame if he was finished before we even got out of the shower, wouldn't it?"

"Nnnnnngh," Dean replied emphatically, as Jimmy's fingers ghosted across his hole to stroke his perineum without warning. Cas glared a warning at his twin, and Jimmy tried to feign innocence.

"Nobody comes until we're on a bed, or at least a softer surface," he ordered. Scanning the shelf behind him, Cas grabbed a bottle and tossed it to Jimmy, who snatched it out of the air, slightly disappointed to see that it was only shower gel.

Now motivated, it still managed to be the best and hottest shower Jimmy had ever taken in his life. It quickly became impossible to tell who was soaping whom, and valuable discoveries drew sighs and moans from them all. Dean loved having his hair tugged, making the loveliest noises when Cas roughly massaged the shampoo into his scalp; Dean's eyebrows rose with interest as Cas's breath stuttered at the lightest brush of slick fingers across his dark nipples. When Dean dipped his head to trace Jimmy's throat with his tongue, Jimmy's dick throbbed, sticky fluid pulsing almost continuously from the tip. "I think we're clean now," he gasped, and Dean grabbed for the shower knob.

Jimmy couldn't have recalled later how the three of them got from the bathroom to the bedroom across the hall. The only memory that would stand out vividly in his head was the sight of Dean's engorged length bouncing hard against his abdomen as he fell against the mattress, leaving a spot of sticky wetness as it did. Jimmy swung his head wildly to find Cas. "Now? Please?" he begged shamelessly.

Dropping the damp towel he'd carried out of the bathroom, Cas grinned and sank to the bed beside them. "Now," he said. Jimmy exhaled in relief and lunged forward, practically throwing himself on top of Dean as he wrapped a hand around his length and stroked hard—once, twice. Dean cried out something that might have been his name, thrusting into Jimmy's fist, and then Jimmy was mouthing his way downward, kneeling between Dean's legs and licking around the crown of his cock.

The reaction was incredible, as Dean tossed his head back, chest heaving. Jimmy could have kept at it all day, admiring the way his brow furrowed and eyelashes fluttered, but he found himself distracted by the feel of hands gripping his own bottom, pulling his cheeks apart, and a warm exhalation against his hole. One hand briefly released him, and a small bottle he hadn't seen Cas locate was tossed to the sheets beside them. Then his brain short-circuited as Cas dove into the task of driving him insane with his tongue.

Forcing himself to regain as much concentration as he could, he teased Dean with his own tongue while opening the lube and drizzling it over his fingers. Dean was too far gone to notice until Jimmy began to press one lubed finger against his tight furl. Then he grunted and tried to grind down onto it, too eager to wait. He whimpered when Jimmy smacked at his bottom with the other hand.

"Not too fast," he said soothingly, brushing his lips against Dean's hip. When he finally pushed his finger inside, the heat and tight fit was incredible. "God, when's the last time you did this?" Jimmy murmured.

"Too long," Dean panted. "But it's _good,_ so good." The thought that Dean seemed to enjoy a bit of pain with his pleasure made Castiel groan loudly from his position behind Jimmy. "More," Dean begged.

He really didn't want to hurt him, and he was sure Cas was going to scold him if he rushed, but apparently Cas was now fully on board with letting everybody have what they want. Jimmy tentatively added a second finger, and Dean gasped, but then he ground down again; his cock jumped in Jimmy's other hand, leaking from the tip with every twitch. Jimmy licked it away eagerly.

Cas must have found the bottle of lube when he was distracted, because cool, slick fingers were joining his tongue in stretching Jimmy. Part of his brain hysterically laughed that it was turning into a race to see who could prep the quickest. He'd had a tiny head start, but Dean's apparent dry spell had put him at a slight disadvantage. _God, we really do compete over everything,_ he thought, obeying Dean's groaned demands for a third finger. He twisted them, scissoring and stretching, then sank his mouth over his cock just as he crooked his fingers against the fleshy spot he'd been avoiding. He was prepared for the way Dean's hips jumped, thrusting down his throat, and he pulled off with a grin.

"Need you to fuck me," Dean panted. He opened his eyes fully, searching for Cas, then made a strangled noise when he saw him still licking into Jimmy. "Need _someone_ to fuck me, _now._ "

Cas sat up, four fingers still buried in Jimmy, and reached for the strip of condoms sitting behind him on the bed. Handing one off to Jimmy, he grabbed his brother and pulled him up onto his knees, chest against his back. Jimmy struggled to get the wrapper off, overwhelmed as teeth nipped at the side of his throat. He barely had it rolled onto himself when Castiel's lube-coated fingers wrapped around his cock, stroking and slicking him thoroughly.

Jimmy leaned forward then, gripping the back of Dean's legs to push his knees higher, and slowly pushed inside with a guttural moan. He barely registered the loss of Cas's fingers, and it was only moments later when, as he was pausing to allow Dean to adjust to the fullness, he found his hips continuing slowly forward, propelled by Cas's cock being buried in his own hole. The twins bottomed out together, and Jimmy felt positively overcome with sensation; his fingers writhed desperately on Dean's thighs, almost certainly leaving bruises behind.

"Brace, Jimmy," Cas whispered hotly in his ear, then pulled out and thrust deeply. Jimmy couldn't entirely prevent the impact from transferring forward, and Dean's eyes rolled back in his head as Jimmy plunged into him hard.

"Sorry," Jimmy hissed.

"Do _not_ say you're sorry," Dean growled. " _Again!_ "

Jimmy found himself at the mercy of two undeniable forces. Cas was pounding into him, harder and harder; Dean, meanwhile, wrapped his legs around Jimmy's hips and grabbed at his arms, pulling him deeper with every thrust. Holding on for the ride, Jimmy gave himself over to the competing sensations, drawn inexorably closer and closer to the edge. Dean was completely breathless, flushed and damp from the shower and with sweat, and the sight was more than Jimmy could take.

With no warning, Castiel abruptly reached past Jimmy's waist to mercilessly tug at Dean's nipple. Dean's back bowed sharply up from the bed, and his mouth opened in a silent howl as he came hard enough to stripe both his own chest and Jimmy's. The force with which he clenched nearly pulled Jimmy over the edge with him, but Cas quickly clamped hands on his hips and pulled him backward. "Your promise," he said through gritted teeth.

 _Yours, not mine,_ Jimmy wanted to say as he struggled to change gears, but his cock jerked again at the recollection of Dean on his knees in the shower, gazing up at him through water-beaded lashes. He pulled off the condom and scrambled up to the head of the bed, where Dean eagerly stretched his neck forward to get his lips around him. He was too exhausted from his orgasm to do much, so he grabbed Jimmy's hips and pulled him deeper, encouraging him to thrust. Jimmy only managed a handful of hitches before he was coming down Dean's throat with a sigh.

Cas, who had moved forward into the spot Jimmy had vacated, bent to gently kiss at Dean's chest, a string of broken praises falling from his lips between each nuzzle. "Perfect," he said, sliding against Dean's pelvis, grinding more than thrusting as he rocked into him. "So perfect for both of us." Weakly, Dean reached for him and wrapped his arms around his back, and Cas finally gave a muffled groan against his heart as his hips stilled.

Jimmy slid onto the sheets beside Dean, heedless of the mess, to encircling both of them in a loose hug. It felt like years before anyone had the strength to speak, let alone move. Finally, without opening his eyes, Jimmy flailed an arm over the side of the bed, finally locating the towel Cas had dropped there. A lazy attempt at clean-up was made, and then there was nothing but languid kisses and gentle caresses until sleep found them each.


	9. 2 Parts Stamina, 1 Part Style

**T-minus 20 minutes or so**

"If you don't calm down, you'll be too tired to ride at all. We could be sitting here a while, after all. If the officials decide those currents are too dangerous for the swimmers, they'll delay the start." Castiel was sitting on their mat in the transition area, legs outstretched in front of him; he bent in half to grab his feet, resting his chest easily on his thighs, while continuing to speak. Dean turned his head; the show of flexibility reminded him too much of their "pre-race activities" the night before, and the last thing he needed right now was to be aroused. Jimmy and Cas had been adamantly opposed to any actual fucking, on the obvious grounds that a sore ass and a road bike saddle were not a good match, but that hadn't prevented any other parts of what was apparently a long-standing tradition.

 _"We'll want to be there really early, in case of emergency," Castiel explained. "I'm setting a four AM wake-up call, so lights out by nine at the latest. Trust me, you'll be ready to sleep, nerves or no."_

 _Dean didn't doubt it, considering the way Cas was working over his cock mercilessly, leaning over him with a look of determination only barely tempered with mischief. Lying next to Dean, Jimmy was similarly desperate, trapped and writhing on the bed between Cas's thighs, hips searching for any friction he could find._

 _"There were once superstitions about sex before a competition resulting in tired performances, but actual scientific studies recently proved that the endorphin release of an orgasm can suppress muscle soreness. There's also some discussion over whether sex can increase testosterone levels, though that research is ongoing." It was amazing, how mild and unaffected Castiel could appear while driving them both out of their minds._

 _"Why didn't_ we _go into exercise science?" Jimmy panted._

 _"Hmmm, probably something to do with your failing grades in biology," Cas replied with a smirk. "Besides, the researchers don't fuck the study participants."_

 _"Oh, well, never mind," Jimmy sighed, eyes rolling back in his head as Cas ground against him, then curled his spine forward improbably, sinking his lips around Jimmy's neglected cock._

He had to hand it to them, Dean thought. Even considering the lingering stress around the plane ride there, the unfamiliarity of the hotel room they were sharing, and his worries about the race itself, he had fallen asleep amazingly quickly when he had finally been allowed to come, and he'd slept deeply until being shaken awake to the smell of coffee in the pre-dawn darkness.

He was rested, he had double and triple checked his bike and various equipment, and he'd even slathered up with the special sweat-proof sunscreen Sam had crammed into his suitcase, lecturing him about skin cancer rates among athletes. Dean was as ready as it was possible to be, he knew intellectually. Irrationally, however, he felt in no way prepared.

"You're thinking too hard," Cas informed him, peering up with a wry smirk. "Sit. Now."

Dean huffed, but he dropped onto the mat beside Cas. "Don't know how you're so relaxed," he muttered. Energetic music was thumping loudly from enormous speakers near the finish area, interrupted every few minutes by an announcer whose primary role seemed to be making everybody jumpier with cries of "Almost time, folks!" and "Who's ready to go, go, GO?" Dean wanted to punch him in the face.

"Experience, partially," Cas said, thoughtfully. "I remember my first major meet, back when I was in high school. My parents liked the idea of us being publicly successful, so they could brag to their friends, and there was a lot of pressure to win medals and look good. I think I traveled as much distance vertically, jumping up and down like a terrified kangaroo, as I did around the track. That part gets easier over time, but there are always nerves. You can't control that. What you _can_ control is preparation and training. You've done that."

"Maybe I should have done more hills, though. That hill from Great Highway onto Point Lobos, coming back, is a monster, and—"

"And you're ready for it. You did everything you could possibly do, short of flying to San Francisco every weekend to train on the course. Judging from what I witnessed on the plane, I doubt that would have been an acceptable plan for you, even if money and time were no object." Dean grimaced. He thought he'd hidden his flight-related anxiety pretty well. Apparently sensing his thoughts, Cas rolled his eyes.

"Okay, but what if I screw up one of the sharp turns?"

"What if you do?" Cas put his head to the side, patiently waiting. "What if you overbalance and tip? Then what?"

"I guess...get up, make sure the bike is okay, keep going."

"Exactly. Do add in a check for your own physical well-being, though. It's quicker to slap on a bandage than to push through the pain of sweat in an open wound."

"Yeah, I guess." Dean stood back up and went over to check his bike bag, attached firmly to his top tube. He'd wrestled with himself over the little bag, which wasn't all that aerodynamic and which he probably didn't strictly need, considering that he was counting on finishing his leg of the race in less than an hour. It added weight, too, and both twins had been skeptical about it (Jimmy teasingly calling him a sherpa, Cas muttering about wind resistance). After his third nightmare in a row in which his bike literally disintegrated from underneath him mid-race, he decided that he'd rather be a minute or two slower than fight that battle against his brain. There would be support vehicles on the course to help out anybody having mechanical troubles, but he was used to taking care of himself, like he always had. He'd stuffed the bag full of anything he thought might come in handy: a cycling multitool, spare tube and a patch kit, a couple of zip ties, some extra chain links...essentially, any quick repair he'd ever personally needed, he wanted to be ready to do today.

" _Three! Two! One! And they're off!_ " The announcer's voice cut through Dean's thoughts, and he spun around to squint out at the ferry, anchored by the island. The water was now frothy with churning arms and legs, though it was too far away for them to pick out any actual swimmers in the mass.

"He'll be as close to the front as he can," Cas said, voice raised over the noise of the excited crowd. "He hates getting caught behind people, even if he could technically use their wake to draft." The twins had explained drafting to Dean, who hadn't been familiar with how it worked in racing. Swimmers were allowed to tuck in behind other swimmers, letting the effort of the person in front pull them both along. For some reason, that was legal and acceptable in the swim leg (even if you did run the risk of taking a foot to the face), but decidedly against the rules on the bike. "Keep at least three bike lengths between you and the person ahead of you, or be able to pass within fifteen seconds," he'd been warned. "If you get passed, you have to fall back three lengths before you can pass them back." Sounded complicated, but being disqualified was not something to risk.

It felt like torture, slowly watching the swimmers get closer with each minute. In reality, it would take less than half an hour for the leaders to start climbing out of the water onto the sand, but every minute felt like hours while Dean waited. Castiel looked practically zen, going back to his stretches and eventually lying flat on his back with his eyes closed. Dean couldn't help the noise of frustration he made. "Dude, aren't you nervous for him?" he complained when Cas opened one eye at the sound.

"I have faith in Jimmy," Cas said with a smile. "I have faith in you, too. I'll feel nervous when it's relevant." And he closed his eye again.

When the pro athletes began pounding into the transition area, wetsuits and swim caps flying off to be replaced with helmets and bike shoes, Dean found he was practically dancing from foot to foot, staring everywhere to catch sight of Jimmy. Cas sat up and scooted away from anywhere he might be stepped on or run over, but he remained otherwise relaxed. There were far more individual participants than relay team members, so Dean felt ridiculous standing around with his bike gear on, just waiting.

"Here! Here, take it!" Jimmy suddenly came hurtling up the row of bikes, flailing the velcro timing strap in his hand. Dean grabbed it, bending to fasten it to his ankle.

"How was it?" Cas asked, finally perking up.

"Fucking cold," came Jimmy's terse response. "Saw guys in two swim caps, layered, which was a brilliant idea I wish I'd had. Think my balls froze off five minutes in, but I didn't feel like diving to find them. Thirty-nine forty-six, anyway." Jimmy's finishing time, just under forty minutes, was good news. The pros who'd finished earlier had been allowed off the boat first, and there was no way to tell what place they were in as far as team competition, but it was a solid time compared to those from earlier years, considering this year's strong currents and choppiness of the water.

Dean was already running alongside his bike toward the transition exit, but he heard Jimmy whooping after him. "You got this shit, Dean! Kill it!" Powering on, he hoped he wouldn't let them down.

* * *

Thanks to Jimmy's work, as well as having fresh legs instead of a body already tired from the swim, Dean was saved from having to battle through huge crowds of cyclists. There were riders around him, but not nearly as many as would be coming behind him. That meant he could take the hills on his terms, rather than having to navigate around cyclists moving slower or faster than he wanted.

The first couple of miles weren't too hard - lots of climbing, leaving the beach, but he felt pretty good. He was looking forward to the first major descent, down Lincoln Boulevard. Dean might grudgingly admit to being moderately strong at climbing, but he _loved_ barreling downhill. Plenty of riders were cautious about descents, worrying about losing control, or else they took advantage of gravity to sit back and rest their legs. Dean preferred to use the downward pull as a partner, leaning forward and pedaling hard, making up as much ground as he could.

 _Thank God for Cas and Jimmy,_ he thought to himself, seeing the sharp turns in the road coming up quick. They'd pored over course maps and elevation charts for the bike and run legs, as well as studying race reports and pro advice, searching for anywhere they could seize an advantage. Now, seeing cyclists slowing down as they noticed the curves, Dean grinned in satisfaction as he pushed past.

The herd thinned a little more, and he could start noticing more of what was going on. Next to Great Highway, this was the second steepest climb of the race, and distractions helped with the pain. Loads of crowds, standing outside the fancy Seacliff mansions, were cheering wildly; one group had signs with pictures of Robin Williams on them. Oh, that was right; Dean remembered Sam telling him that Robin had been an avid cyclist, and that he'd actually done this race many times. That was his house, and those were probably his friends. A little burst of melancholy hit him, but that could wait.

He was still climbing when he noticed out of the corner of his eye the rider practically clinging to his back wheel. He waited for them to pass, and when they didn't, he eventually risked a glance over his shoulder. The jersey on the red-haired woman caught him by surprise: it was a match to his own.

"Hey, Sandover, shit or get off the pot," he shouted back. "This hill sucks enough without dead weight."

"It does suck," she called back. "Thanks for the lift."

 _What the hell?_ Dean hastily scanned the area. He wasn't sure what a race official would be wearing, but nobody who was watching them looked concerned or was doing anything. "Seriously, no drafting!"

He thought he heard a light laugh, but she gave no other reply. After a long minute, she called out, "Later, babe!" Dean had no idea what was going on as she suddenly fell back from him, but a moment later, he saw a man in a vest come into view by the side of the road, holding a clipboard and talking on a radio. _Ah._

Past the official, around the curve, the Sandover lady was right back on his ass.

"Fucking cheat!" he shouted at her. He was livid, pissed both because she was making it harder on him and because she knew exactly what she was doing and how to get away with it. Again, she gave no response, as though she couldn't care less that he knew, which made him even angrier.

Eventually the hill crested, and he hoped like hell that his downhill skills would put enough distance between them that she would at least find somebody else to tow her up the next hill. There were certainly enough quick turns along it; before one turn, he heard a volunteer screaming at riders to slow down, though he was going so fast that he barely registered her voice until he was well past.

The course finally leveled off, with a turn that put a strong wind off the beach right at his side. It had blown sand across the road, and he had a moment of panic when his front wheel hit the unstable patch and lost traction. Sam's voice rang in his head: _"There's less traction than with dirt, and you'll skid like crazy if you try to slam the brakes. Just keep going, like if you hit a patch of ice in your car."_ Thankfully, there wasn't that much sand, and then he was back to asphalt.

The beach stretch had a ton of spectators, but at the next turn leading into Golden Gate Park, with another hill approaching, the crowds dwindled. As though she'd been waiting for that opportunity, suddenly his Sandover nemesis reappeared behind him and just to the side, where he could see her. He cursed, and she chuckled.

"I should thank the Novaks," she called. "They brought such great course support." Dean fumed, but he decided to save his breath for pedaling harder.

He couldn't shake her. Every time he caught a glimpse of what looked like an official, she'd drop back, but only for the length of time it took to avoid being seen. They were moving so fast, faster than Dean had ever gone in training, that it seemed like nobody had a chance to see how shamelessly she was drafting. Dean decided that if she beat him, he was going to have to find his own revenge. He couldn't tell Jimmy or Cas; they'd be caught between their own competitive natures and their careers. No way would reporting the boss's team for cheating _not_ have ramifications back at home.

Mile nine, the halfway point both around the park and through the course, was a series of rollers, quick and tiny little hills. Dean was ready for them, knowing they were short enough that it was hardly worth even changing gears going up and down. He was at the bottom of the second hill, aiming for the third, when a sudden brutal impact against his rear wheel almost sent him flying. He struggled helplessly to maintain control, but the speed he'd been traveling made it nearly impossible. Abruptly, he felt the pedals jolt under his feet, and as they suddenly began to spin freely, a burning pain slashed up his calf. His wheels slipped sideways, and he hit the ground, bike sliding beneath him in a wide circle.

He was dazed, gritting his teeth, hardly aware of the stream of obscenities echoing behind him. When he lifted his head, he saw the Sandover team member glaring at him as she lifted her bike from the ground and climbed back on. "Watch where you're going," she hissed, as though he'd knocked her over intentionally. She rode away, slightly shaky, as he finally realized that she'd caused the crash by being too close to him coming off the hill.

 _No time,_ he scolded himself. He spared a moment to look at his leg. _Oh, not good._ Cas's suggestion about a bandage was obviously not going to cover this; his chain had broken loose from his derailleur, slicing the back of his leg badly. The gash was jagged, bleeding profusely, and at least five or six inches. Instead, Dean ripped his Sandover jersey over his head and tied it around his leg, tearing the thin fabric so it didn't dangle loosely.

There would be a support team around somewhere, but he had no idea where, and he was in a hurry. The chain was hanging from the chainring, and he quickly ran it through his fingers. _Two bent links, one broken._ He put aside all thoughts of the pain in his leg, grabbing for the zipper on his bag. It wasn't a difficult repair, so long as you had the tools to do it. Popping up the chainbreaker on his multitool, he set to work.

In his head, a litany of harsh attacks looped constantly. _Screwed it up. Let them down. Messed up everything. Stupid, useless, waste._ It didn't matter that he wasn't the one who caused the accident; he knew he could have found some way to avoid it, if he'd just tried harder. Now he was losing time, down in the dirt, and Cas and Jimmy would be disappointed. They'd blame him, and they would be right.

It would have been quicker to just take the damaged links out, but he knew the biggest hill was still ahead, and he'd need his biggest gears if he wanted any hope of getting to the top, especially with his calf hurting. He took the extra seconds to put in the spare links, hoping he could make up for them with speed down the road. All in all, he was rethreading the chain back into place within four minutes, but it felt like an eternity.

Dean gasped in agony when he pushed down on the pedal with his injured leg, but he didn't have time to baby it. Feeling blood drip below his jersey, grimacing at the morbid thought that he hoped the blood wouldn't affect the timing chip, he set out on his mission to _catch that bitch._ Nothing else mattered.

Out of the park, onto Kennedy, turn right on the Great Highway. It had been chilly with the ocean breezes earlier in the morning, but the sun was beginning to heat things up a bit, and Dean's bare back was quickly warmed. _Should have used more of that sunscreen,_ he thought. A group of young women standing along the road wolf-whistled at him, not noticing the bloody mess on the side away from them, but he couldn't quite find the humor in the situation.

Halfway up the grinding hill, suffering hard, he saw one of the support teams. _Good thing I didn't wait around._ They were clustered around a disabled bike, changing out a tire. When he got closer, he heard a familiar voice. "Hurry up, hurry up! I'm losing time, please!" He couldn't stop the snicker that burst out when he saw the agitated redhead waving her hands in frustration. She must have gotten a leak in the crash, or else damaged her frame enough to rub a hole in the tire. Leaving her behind felt like vindication, but as he finally reached the top of the hill at mile twelve, the satisfaction dissipated somewhat. He pushed harder and harder, all the while telling himself there was no making up for his big mistake.

Seacliff passed, and Dean hardly noticed, except to remember to watch for _"the enormous fucking crater in the road right before McClaren that you won't see coming!"_ One more uphill after that, he knew, and then he could sail back down the last descent to the transition area. His leg was on fire, the jersey was soaked through, and he'd heard gasps from the crowds of people he passed, but he wasn't going to stop at this point.

Flying down the hill and through a tunnel back to Marina Green and the finish line, he had a moment of sudden clarity. _Other than the crash, and before that...this was actually really fun. I would totally do this again._ It was a shame he'd never get to, but at least he could have some good memories to keep.

The screaming was near deafening as he entered the park, with volunteers shouting at him to slow down. He stayed on the bike until the last second, when he was forced to dismount and run it in; dropping to his feet sent a fresh jolt of pain along his calf, and he staggered for a moment. Entering transition, he saw the huge digital clock overhead, counting down the seconds elapsed. He'd missed finishing under one hour by less than a minute, he realized with a groan.

Cas was bouncing impatiently on his toes, ready to go. When he stooped to reach for the ankle strap, he jerked his hand back at the sight. "What the fuck?" he barked.

"Accident, hit from behind. No big deal. Just go," Dean muttered through a tensed jaw. Looking as though he wanted to argue, Cas hesitated, fingers clenching at the air, before finally ripping the strap from Dean's ankle and fastening it to his own. Then he was gone, flying toward the fence opening at a breakneck pace.

"Okay, now that he's gone, let's take a look." Jimmy was eyeing him with a severe expression. Dean sighed, knowing he was going to have to explain the whole mess, and bent to untie the jersey from his leg. It was an absolute wreck, and the knots were coated in wet and dried blood, but he eventually got it free. Jimmy whistled, eyes wide.

"No big deal? Right," he said, leaning over to stare. "Good thing you had it covered. If Cassie had seen this, he'd have freaked. He'll rip up his own legs falling down on the trails, but the sight of anybody else's blood sends him straight into nursemaid mode. He was already worried enough when you were later getting back than we expected, but this…" He shook his head, looking pained. "C'mon, let's get you to the med tent, see if we can get you patched up before he gets back."

"After." Dean grabbed a water bottle and poured it over the wound, hissing as it streamed down. A better look at the gash showed him that the clean-up was going to be horrendous, getting all the dirt and rocks out. "I don't want to be stuck in there and miss seeing Cas finish."

Jimmy exhaled hard, shrugging. "Well, okay, but...hang on." He dashed away through the crowd, returning a minute later with a roll of gauze, some tape, and a foil heat blanket that he draped over Dean's naked back. "Let's at least cover it back up with something better than a sweaty shirt. Sit." He started gently rolling the gauze around the injury, obviously trying hard not to cause any more pain. His eyes were full of concern when he glanced back up at Dean's face. "Pretty bad wreck, I take it?"

Dean made a sound that he hoped made it clear that he didn't feel like describing it. He hated how Jimmy was looking at him like that, like he was distressed about Dean's injury. It wasn't that he was eager for the reproachful looks, but he wanted it over with. Instead of answering, Dean said, "Sorry it took me so long. I know you were hoping I'd be faster."

"Dean, shit!" Jimmy looked appalled. "You've got a major injury here, and judging from the state of the field dressing you had on it, it wasn't something that happened in the last mile. You had to have been pushing through some major pain—of course your pace was gonna take a hit!"

"Mostly it was the repair time," Dean admitted. "Shouldn't have been necessary, if I could have avoided the wreck."

Jimmy sat back on his heels with a huff. "Well, you're obviously delusional." Dean glared at him, but Jimmy wasn't backing down. "Somebody else hits you, injures you, and breaks your bike, but it's somehow your fault? Dean, I've heard of self-sacrificing, but you're verging on martyr." He snorted and started to examine the other scrapes along Dean's body that had gone unnoticed compared to his leg. His cycling gloves had saved the palms of his hands, thankfully.

"I wanted…" Dean cut himself off, shaking his head, before he could spill his guts and reveal how pathetic he could really be.

"You wanted to do well," Jimmy finished for him. "It's natural to want to do the best you can, and here's a newsflash. You _did._ "

"No," Dean argued. "I wanted to do my part for you guys, to do well for the _team._ You guys are so awesome, so fast and amazing, and...and I know I'm just the guy on the bike who you had to settle for. I wanted to make up for that, but I screwed it all up."

Jimmy's mouth was working soundlessly, his expression somewhere between stunned and outraged. "You…" he said. "You are an absolute idiot." Uncaring of anyone around them, he grabbed Dean's face and kissed him firmly. "'Just the guy on the bike,' I _swear._ You're doubly lucky Cas wasn't here to hear that."

"But…" Dean tried to protest, but Jimmy interrupted him with another kiss and a challenging look. Dean grabbed him by the shoulders to hold him back. "But you guys deserved to win, or at least come close."

" _We_ deserve it. You're on the team, and you put in as much training as we did, and in half the time. And, no lie, I am beyond turned on by how you freaking tore in here covered in your own blood, like some kind of warrior god. Think half the other cyclists here would have managed what you did? You and your bag of tools, practically build a bike with your own bleeding hands if you had to…" He leaned forward, huffing, to rest his forehead on Dean's shoulder for a moment. Sitting back up, then, he grinned. "Oh, and I'll let you in on a secret. Castiel in a race is always a force. Cas under pressure, coming from behind? Fucking terrifying. Come on, you won't want to miss this."

Letting Jimmy haul him back to his feet, he limped on his stiffening leg toward the finisher's chute, arm wrapped around shoulders for support. People were finishing, but they seemed to be mostly the pros, tri-suits covered in logos for various sponsors. Jimmy kept checking his watch, then staring into space and muttering calculations about splits and paces that Dean didn't grasp. He was trying to put it out of his head when he heard the crowd noise start to rise even higher. The announcer, enjoying the drama, was proclaiming, "...neck and neck, folks! It's gonna be a battle to the end! That's Sean McGinnis of Actelion, running for the Corporate Cup challenge, and he has Castiel Novak from Sandover dead on his heels! Novak is not giving up, and they're heading toward the finish!"

The runners were still only discernible by their jersey colors, red for Actelion and yellow for Sandover, but Dean could tell that the speed they were moving was beyond anything he'd ever seen Cas do. Their arms were pumping, legs churning, and the spectators were screaming at the duel between them. The other guy was taller than Cas, and as they got closer, it was clear that he was much younger—maybe an intern, still in college. He was fighting hard, unwilling to give up without a fight, but Cas looked like a force of nature, teeth bared in a rictus as he determinedly wore down the other man's lead, inch by contested inch.

In the chute, feet from the finish line, as Jimmy screamed at the top of his lungs, Cas used what had to be the last of his reserves to surge forward and finish ahead of Actelion's runner, less than a stride's length separating them. He made it three more steps before crashing to his knees, breathing hard. Jimmy was pounding on Dean's back, hollering; Dean was frozen, mouth open, just waiting for Cas to get back up, be okay.

A volunteer came running with water, and an official came up with a clipboard, asking Cas questions to which he grunted terse answers. Then he finally heaved himself to his feet, looking around. His eyes lit on Dean and Jimmy standing outside the finishing chute, and he stumbled toward them on legs that looked exhausted.

"Holy shit, you are an animal!" Jimmy crowed. "Jesus, you were way under an hour, even with the sand ladder! You get whatever you want tonight, however you want it, no arguments."

"What I want…" Cas growled, still trying to catch his breath. He leaned forward onto the fence. "What I want...is to look at that leg now." He looked up at Dean, glaring, and Jimmy laughed so hard he nearly cried.


	10. Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger

**Two weeks later**

"So is it a gnarly scar?" Sam snickered. Dean made a face, knowing Sam couldn't see him over the phone.

"Actually, not that bad," he said. "I mean, it ain't pretty, and it's long. But it sort of makes a neat shape, almost like a zig-zag. I was thinking I might get a tattoo around it, play it up a little. It could be a good conversation starter." He moved the phone to his other ear, steering the Impala through the gates into the park entrance.

Sam made an interested noise. "You could do something tool-related, for your job. Maybe make it look like a saw cut, put a hand saw or a circular saw at the end of the scar?"

"Honestly, I was thinking maybe something about biking," Dean said. Imagining his own sport-related ink, like Castiel's Hermes or Jimmy's waves, made him smile. It wasn't the same as a couple's (or trio's) tattoo, not a statement of a romantic commitment that would be way too soon to add permanently to his body. This was something just for him—a way to keep the memory of how, at one point in his life, he did this amazing thing with two amazing guys.

"Well, if you need me to come hold your hand…" Sam teased.

Dean laughed calmly. "Think I got that covered," he said. "I've already been promised that the 'kiss it better' duties will be managed in-house."

"Dude, you promised me no details!" Sam whined. Dean could practically hear him squirming over the phone line. "Look, I'm really happy for you that whatever is going on for you is all that you wanted, but I told you, I still see those guys at work on a regular basis. I do _not_ want to have...visuals."

In retrospect, Dean realized that he probably should have figured out ahead of time what to say when Sam asked him how things were going with his "big decision." He hadn't, though, so the conversation had been more than slightly awkward.

 _"It's...good," Dean said, trying and failing to keep the goofy grin from spreading over his face._

 _"You hooked up with Jimmy, didn't you? I knew it!" Sam punched his shoulder, a look of pride and eagerness in his eyes. "And Cas is good with everything?"_

 _"Oh, Cas is...good, too." He faltered a little, nervous._

 _"He's...too? Huh?" Sam pulled back, staring at Dean, waiting for an explanation. Dean bit his lip, thinking. Finally, he just winked and shrugged. "Oh, dude! How do you...no, you know what? I don't need to know. Just…" Sam waved his hand over his head, closing his eyes. "Just make good choices, whatever that means in this scenario. If you're happy, I'm happy. And do_ not _give me the details."_

Dean would try to keep that promise, because nobody really _needed_ to know what went on behind the closed doors of the twins' apartment or his house. He wasn't sure he could explain it himself, most of the time. But he was happy, yes.

He saw Castiel first, jogging along the grass strip between the trees and the parking lot, lifting his knees exaggeratedly as he warmed up. Jimmy was leaning against the hood of their car, fiddling with his phone. "Gotta go, Sammy," Dean said as he pulled into a parking space. "Time to go get dirty in the woods."

"I know you're talking about trail running, Dean, so you don't need to try making me uncomfortable with your innuendos."

"Later, then," he said, hanging up. Getting out of the car and heading over to Jimmy and Cas (his _boyfriends,_ how incredible was that), he did a little spin, flourishing his arms. "Stitches out, doc cleared me. Systems are go for trails!" They clapped for him enthusiastically, and he bowed, flushed with happiness. He'd actually been able to exercise for a week already, but his doctor advised him to stick to treadmills and stationary bikes in less "organic" environments, and Castiel had been firm about following those instructions.

"We'll take it slow, just in case," Cas said now. "The muscle should be fine, and the skin is healing nicely, but there's no need to rush. We're all still technically recovering from a hard race."

"Among other things," Jimmy added, leering. "You sure you're up for running at all, Cassie? After last night, there's no shame in calling an audible."

"So cocky," Cas drawled, rolling his eyes to the sky. "Not that you weren't wonderful, sweetheart, but you know it would take more than that to put me out of commission." He stretched his arms high over his head, arching his back languidly. Despite his words, Dean spied the light bruises on each hip from where Jimmy had gripped him, fucking hard; the sight had been nearly as hot as the obscene things Cas's tongue had been doing to Dean at the same time.

Jimmy chortled. "Oh, ho, sounds like a challenge to me! How about it, Dean?"

Smirking, Dean started toward the trailhead. "Sure, but later. The park closes at dusk, and I don't mean to rip open the other calf, falling over something because it got too dark to see the trail."

How was it possible, Dean wondered, that it had only been a few months ago that running up and down these hills was such alien territory? Now his feet moved naturally over the leaves and dirt, finding pleasure in leaping the occasional stump or large rock. He'd found a rhythm with Cas and Jimmy, too, knowing without saying when one of them wanted to speed up or slow down, understanding the nonverbal signals of approaching obstacles. It was a strange mix of meditation and playtime, this type of running, and he couldn't remember life before he had it.

"There's one of those 'color runs' coming to town next month," he said, remembering the article in the morning paper.

Jimmy made a rude noise. "Overpriced, noncompetitive, and mostly just an excuse for a festival. You want a dance party with body paint, we can do that without screwing up a perfectly good pair of running shoes."

"On the other hand, I saw an interesting obstacle race over in Kansas City in August," Cas called back. "Normally, I'm not a fan, since you spend more time waiting in line at the obstacles than you do running or doing the obstacles themselves, but this one's not one of the major corporate series. Apparently, the grad students at the university are doing it, a partnership between the engineering and the athletics department. The proceeds support the school, and the obstacles sound sadistic, but doable."

"'Sadistic, but doable.' Sounds like you guys," Dean joked.

They were all experiencing a little post-race let-down, which initially had messed with Dean's head, exacerbating his doubts about his performance. The brothers had reassured him, letting him know that it was a common issue. Best way to handle it, they agreed, was to dive back in. Realizing that they had no plans to stop including him in their physical activities, in the bedroom and out, had been mind-blowing and incredible.

Three miles in, halfway around the trail loop, Dean needed to stop for a minute and stretch his leg. The constant ups and downs were taking their toll on muscles that hadn't seen as much use, and he knew better than to overdo it. Jimmy passed him a water bottle, and Castiel leaned up against a nearby tree, regarding them with a look of placid indulgence. His bright orange singlet was only slightly damp with sweat, despite the muggy June humidity. Another strange quirk between the twins; Jimmy, for some reason, was much more prone to heavy perspiration. He joked that it was just one more perk of spending more time working out underwater than on land.

"You really are recovering well, you know. Even without the injury, going as hard in a race as we all did takes a lot out of a person," Cas said. "The rest of your muscle soreness is gone, though?"

"Yeah," Dean replied. "It was all worth it, too. God, the look on that guy's face when you passed him."

"I still wish we could do something about the drafting bullshit," Jimmy complained. They'd eventually worked it out that the crash had been the work of the other Sandover team; it wasn't a far leap, when he'd been so reluctant first to tell them the details of the crash, and then to tell them who was the other person involved. There was only one reason why he wouldn't have stalked right up to the judges' tent, demanding that the culprit be disqualified. Cas had been peeved that Dean wouldn't do it, but Dean had refused to let them commit professional suicide over it, and they'd had no choice but to let it go.

"Look at it this way. If she got DQed, Sandover wouldn't have had their two teams, so you'd have been out of the running. Your win wouldn't have counted."

" _Our_ win," Castiel corrected him. "Well, at least there'll be some poetic justice. I've heard Roman saying he was actually impressed with how she kept trying to contest their team's finishing time, saying the support vehicle took 'more than a reasonably expected length of time' to fix her tire, and now he's 'promoting' her to being in charge of the legal department at the new facility headquarters. In Albany. I do hope she likes snow."

"Of course, it would have nothing at all to do with how she ended up wrecking the lead he built up in the swim. Him, be that petty?" Jimmy smirked. "I hear Crowley's running another pool. Little bit more discreet this time, but big money's on her leaving Sandover for the highest bidder who's in search of corporate dirt. Hey, if we see her at Alcatraz next year on another team, can we destroy her then?" His grin looked so innocently hopeful that Dean couldn't resist pulling him in for a kiss, which started out almost chaste but escalated when Jimmy ran his tongue along the seam of Dean's lips, looking for an invitation that Dean was happy to grant.

Within moments, Dean was so wrapped up in the warm wetness of Jimmy's mouth that Cas's deep voice by his ear made him jump in surprise. "Definitely not stopping you two, but perhaps we'd be better off taking this off the main trail?" Looking around and remembering where they were, Dean blushed. He allowed Cas to take his hand and lead them a little ways into the woods, finding a more secluded spot.

"Now, you can't make noise," Jimmy admonished him. "This is a busy park. All sorts of people out here." Dean hadn't seen many other cars in the lot, and they hadn't run into a single other person on the trail, but the idea of being caught, and thinking of what they might do that would necessitate avoiding being seen, sent a delicious thrill up his spine.

Cas nudged him back against an oak tree, then studied him for a moment, thinking. Reaching a decision, he pulled at the hem of Dean's shirt, lifting it over his head. Dean was momentarily confused, having been expecting a quick-and-dirty, mostly-dressed romp, but he understood when Cas folded the shirt in half and dropped it to the ground, kneeling on it for protection against twigs and pine needles.

Jimmy was on him in a heartbeat, heated eyes lighting on his naked chest with desire. He ran his fingers over Dean's ribs, lowering his mouth to his collarbone and biting playfully. Dean whimpered, reaching to run his own hands under Jimmy's shirt to trace his abdominal muscles.

The feeling of Cas yanking his shorts to his knees quickly brought Dean's attention to the present. His hips jerked forward in startlement, and he yelped as Cas gripped his hardening cock and began briskly to stroke it to full erection. "Jimmy, please help Dean be quiet," he asked. Jimmy locked eyes with Dean and smirked, tracing his lips with his fingers. Dean opened his mouth obediently; Jimmy pushed in two fingers, which Dean sucked hard, groaning around them as Cas took his length into his own mouth.

It was torture. Dean struggled to keep still, fought to keep his noises from escaping, but it was a good thing that this looked like it wouldn't take long. He felt a rhythmic brushing against his hip, and when he glanced down, he saw that Jimmy had his own cock out, jerking it rapidly against Dean's side. Dean moaned around the fingers in his mouth, sliding a hand around Jimmy's waist to slip it down the curve of his ass and between his cheeks. Cas was using every trick in the book to push Dean over the edge, first taking him deep into his throat and swallowing, and then pulling almost completely off and using his tongue to tease at his slit. Beyond all that, the roughness of the tree bark against his back kept him constantly aware of where he was and the risk of being exposed.

The sudden warmth of Jimmy coming in streaks against his side with a soft cry was the final straw. He warned Cas, pulling at his hair, and Cas sucked harder around him, squeezing Dean's hips in approval. Dean moaned, slack-mouthed around Jimmy's fingers, as his vision whited out and he came hard in Cas's mouth.

When his head cleared, he opened his eyes and saw Cas standing in front of him, frantically working himself while Jimmy kissed him passionately. Without a thought, Dean dropped to his own knees on his discarded shirt. "Come on my face," he begged hoarsely. Both Jimmy and Cas groaned, and only seconds later, Dean felt hot spurts landing across his cheeks and lips. He licked at the drops he could reach, leaning into the fingers now stroking through his hair in praise.

Jimmy suddenly laughed out loud. When Dean and Cas looked at him in surprise, he gestured around them. "Dusk," he said succinctly. "We're going to have to haul ass back to the trailhead, or else our cars will be locked in overnight." He and Cas gripped Dean's arms to help him up, then cleaned him as quickly and gently as they could, between brief kisses, with the already dirty shirt.

"Everyone set? Last one back to the cars has to live in the park!" Jimmy shouted, scampering back toward the trail.

Cas grinned at Dean, shaking his head in exasperation. "Hope your leg is better, Dean. Come on!" Smiling back, ready to take on the world as long as these guys believed he could do it, Dean slapped Cas on the back and began to run.


End file.
